I have lived eighty years.

I am still drawing water." "Draw a little for me, Dad." This time Mr.Stone looked at his daughter anxiously, and suddenly spoke, as if afraid that if he waited he might forget.
"You are unhappy!" Bianca put her face down to his tweed sleeve.

"How nice your coat smells!" she murmured.
"You are unhappy," repeated Mr.Stone.
Bianca dropped his hand, and moved away.
Mr.Stone followed her.

"Why ?" he said.

Then, grasping his brow, he added: "If it would do you any good, my dear, to hear a page or two, I could read to you." Bianca shook her head.
"No; talk to me!" Mr.Stone answered simply: "I have forgotten." "You talk to that little girl," murmured Bianca.
Mr.Stone seemed to lose himself in reverie.
"If that is true," he said, following out his thoughts, "it must be due to the sex instinct not yet quite extinct.