The Wistful Asylum
The flatboat was gone before the last bell. Edward Ashworth stood at the river gate with his wife's paper held flat against his chest, and he watched the mist close over her like water over a stone. There had been an oar-stroke. He was sure of it. And then there had not been one. "What did she give you?" asked Mr. Soames, the infirmarer, who had come up with his lantern and his wet old eyes. "A...
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