This seemed to be the one
single clear point from which her confused ideas radiated, and the
love she bore her sister was strong enough to clear away the
tangled web of thought and bring her at last to a calmer, more
natural state of mind. There were hours in which no one would
suspect her of insanity, save that as she talked childish, and
even meaningless expressions were mingled with what she said,
showing that the woof of her intellect was defective still, and in
such a condition as this Edith found her that day when, with
Richard's letter in her hand, she seated herself upon the foot of
the bed and said, "I heard from Richard last night. You remember
him, darling?"
"Yes, he made me Arthur's wife; but I wish he hadn't for then you
would not look so white and sorry."
"Never mind that," returned Edith, "but listen to the message he
sent his little Snowdrop," and she read what Richard had written
to Nina.
"I wish I could be one of those bright angels," Nina said,
mournfully, when Edith finished reading; "but, Miggie, Nina's so
bad.
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