"I am degenerating, Ffoulkes--that's what it is.

Pay no heed to it.

I suppose that carrying that sleeping child in my arms last night softened some nerves in my body.

I was so infinitely sorry for the poor mite, and vaguely wondered if I had not saved it from one misery only to plunge it in another.
There was such a fateful look on that wan little face, as if destiny had already writ its veto there against happiness.

It came on me then how futile were our actions, if God chooses to interpose His will between us and our desires." Almost as he left off speaking the rain ceased to patter down against the puddles in the road.