She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. What would happen when next morning she returned to Morningside Park? He couldn’t turn her out of doors. The less she lived, in fact, the better. Never had she seemed to him so much like Anna. “Are you sick, Michelle? Maybe you should have stayed home. The hard work will be his, until we yank this young fellow back from the brink. “My dear child,” he said, “with me you need have no apprehension. It’s these damned novels.
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