She found herself struggling with a storm of tears. "Let me see," replied Wood; "exactly twelve years ago last November. I keep on thinking of little details and aspects of your voice, your eyes, the way you walk, the way your hair goes back from the side of your forehead. He would always see the picture of the huge, raw-boned Dutchman, haranguing and thundering the word of God into the dull ears of South Sea Islanders, who, an hour later, would be carrying fruit penitently to their wooden images. “Maybe we could swing a scholarship to Boston College for you, you know, with your violin and all.
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