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Mrs. Wilson was outside, by this time, and tying on her sun-bonnet. Maurice held back. She grasped his arm and hustled him down the walk., And now, after days of loneliness and nights of terror, Maurice was up again and outside where he could catch the wood-breeze and smell the sweet odor of plants and clearing fires. He wondered how many years he had been away from it all. How old was he now? Why didn't his mother answer his questions? He did not realize that his voice was weak; he had forgotten that his mother was deaf. All he knew was that nobody cared a hang for him any more, not even his own mother. His weak hands clutched at the bandage at his throat, as though to tear it off and hurl it from him. His head sank weakly back against the wall, and the tears came to his eyes., "But, darn it all, Bill," Maurice objected, "there won't be no ghost to lead the way to the stuff in the daytime.".