Wood was so much exhausted that he was obliged to retire to his own room, where he continued for some hours overpowered by grief. A corner could hold the promise of a shelf of dainty crystals, volcanic ices of rainbow colors, or figurines of saints sculpted from horn and bone reenacting their martyrdoms on delicate miniature wooden stages. ’ ‘Undoubtedly,’ Gerald agreed. " "Where are you going?" asked his mother. "I wouldn't force him for the world: but if he don't tip the stivers, may I be cursed if he don't get a taste of the aqua pompaginis.
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