Everybody dies, don't they?

Everybody come back.

Isn't that same?

You tried to get into the locked drawer today, didn't you?

How do the dead come back, mother?

What's the secret?

Chapter 9

I waited and waited, and the days as they elapsed,

took something from my consternation.

A very few of them, in fact,

passing in constant sight of my pupils without a fresh incident,

suffice to give to grievous fancies and even to odious memories a kind of brush of the sponge.

I have spoken of the surrender to their extraordinary childish grace as a thing I could actively cultivate,

and it may be imagined if

I neglected now to address myself to this source for whatever it would yield.

Stranger than I can express, certainly, was the effort to struggle against my new lights.

It would doubtless of been, however, a great attention still, had it not been so frequently

successful.

I used to wonder how my little charges could help guessing that I thought strange things about

them, and the circumstances that these things only made them more interesting was not by itself

a direct aid to keeping them in the dark.

I trembled, lest they should see that they were so immensely more interesting.

...