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If hate could kill, Ramage would have been killed by a flash of hate. He never cries nor frets, as children generally do, but lies at my bosom, or on my knee, as quiet and as gentle as you see him now. “I can’t imagine it,” said Miss Miniver. Gianfrancesco was not ugly, in fact, perhaps he was rather handsome after all. What a pity! For all her ignorance of material things—the human inventions which served the physical comforts of man—how much she knew about man himself! She had seen him bereft of all those spiritual props which permit man to walk on two feet instead of four—broken, without resilience.
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