He took a handful of almonds and raisins that she held out to him—for both these young people had given up the practice of going out for luncheon—and kept her hand for a moment to kiss her finger-tips. It was his mother, and as he gazed on her pallid features and motionless frame, Jack's heart severely smote him. His glances were hard to disguise as he scanned her periodically during class. She missed them already. For a long time to come that would naturally be the theme of any story he undertook to write. But I’m thinking as how I’d best report to the major over this here shooting. ” “It gives in a nutshell the miracle of art and the imagination.
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