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The drea about so over sand, hot like the floor of a furnace,

on and on, a terribly long way, towards soe of the world and was now a cloud, and now a cloak, and now a

deadabout her now, and there was no sense in what

they said

"Is there no hope?" said one

"None," said the other, "none"

There was a sound of so time, but

it was so faint she could scarcely hear it

"It is just as well She would have died in child-birth, or lost her

reason"

The crying sounded very far away

It ceased The sand drifted and fell fro

into a whirlpool, sucked down by a great spinning darkness and by an icy

wind She threw up her ar from

sleep She had done with fevers and with dreae of down from her forehead "Look,"

he said, "it is like the forehead of a child"