The cultivated indifference, which was part of the armour of his little world fell away from him. "By my soul," said the sexton, "that's as like Jack Sheppard as any one I ever seed i' my born days. She did not want to go to the doctor's people; however kindly that might be, they would be only curious strangers. The rest were hieroglyphic characters, executed in red chalk and charcoal. If only this child were his: what good times they would have together! The thought passed on, but it left a little ache in his heart. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. \"Didn't have any,\" replied Shari.
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