Lucy vomited onto the floor at the sight of her mother dying, the black spots expanding across her corpse. Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms. "It's not very likely that a babby of nine months old will save my life, if I'm to be his friend, as you seem to say, Mrs. " "And terribly you have kept your vow," replied Mrs. ‘Sleeping like a baby, he is. “How did you hear that?” Lucy’s brows knitted. Perhaps he truly meant it – perhaps there was a force within him that could withstand the hardships of existing past a mortal lifetime.
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