Not us. They are their mother’s sons. Your lamented mother, whose loss I shall ever deplore, perceived my passion and encouraged it. “Annabel,” she said brusquely. " "What gives you that idea?" "Well, we could find no letter of credit, no letters, no labels in his clothes—not a single clew to his real identity. Fritz flailed against his mother wildly, crying generous tears. She was very pale, and there was a look of fear in her eyes. "Oh!" she gasped. She was trying to bring her problems to a head, and her mind insisted upon being even more discursive and atmospheric than usual. For a time he would be the grim Protestant Flagellant, pursuing the idea of self-castigation.
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