She closed her eyes as if asleep, her hands folded neatly on her abdomen. Morningside Park was a suburb that had not altogether, as people say, come off. "Shall I never banish those horrible phantoms from my couch—the father with his bleeding breast and dripping hair!—the mother with her wringing hands and looks of vengeance and reproach!—And must another be added to their number—their son! Horror!—let me be spared this new crime! And yet the gibbet—my name tarnished—my escutcheon blotted by the hangman!—No, I cannot submit to that. I wrote three letters yesterday and tore them up.
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