“I know these names. I have heard them often.”

“Will you send it, my dear?”

“I cannot understand you. Let me wet your lips again, and your forehead. There. O poor thing, poor thing!” These words through her fast-dropping tears. “What was it that you asked me? Wait till I bring my ear quite close.”

“Will you send it, my dear?”

“Will I send it to the writers? Is that your wish? Yes, certainly.”

“You’ll not give it up to anyone but them?”

“No.”

“As you must grow old in time, and come to your dying hour, my dear, you’ll not give it up to anyone but them?”

“No. Most solemnly.”