" "But Wild still lives," cried Wood. “Don’t think so,” Drummond answered. The crowd began to separate as it fell into the theater. “Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown. One of these, a lady, evidently a confirmed invalid, and attired in deep mourning, reclined upon a sort of couch, or easy chair, set on wheels, with her head supported by cushions, and her feet resting upon a velvet footstool. He passed, and came loitering back and stood beside her, silently looking into her face.
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