'Will you give me shelter?' I said; and finally I gave a desperate
'halloo.'
My efforts had not produced the slightest effect. I was now in a
state of great agitation. That she was stone deaf seemed evident. But
was she not in some kind of fit, though without the contortions of
face Mivart had described to me--contortions which haunted me as much
as though I had seen them? I stooped down and gazed into her face.
There was now no terror there, nor even sorrow. I could see in her
eyes sparks of pleasure, as in the eyes of an infant when it seems to
see in the air pictures or colours to which our eyes are blind. Round
about her cheek and mouth a little dimple was playing, exactly like
the dimple that plays around the mouth of a pleased child. This
marvellous expression on her face recalled to me what Mivart had said
as to the form her dementia assumed between one paroxysm and another.
'Thank God,' thought I, 'she's not in a fit: she's only deaf.'
Driven to desperation, however, I seized her shoulder and shook it.
This aroused her.
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