“And as for praying for faith—this sort of monologue is about as near as any one of my sort ever gets to prayer. But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. In the heart of the jungle the dog had his private muck baths. Michelle answered the door. . We have only those phantoms called memories, which are the husks of dreams. \"I saw you walking down the street with someone, Lucy. But the father, to go his way forever alone! The iron in the man!—the iron in this child of his! Wanting a little love, a caress now and then.
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