A baby enters the world screaming with pain. The first sensations of
living are agonizing. It is the same with the birth of souls, for a
soul is not really born until that day when it is offered choice
between life and death and chooses life. In Mildred Gower's case this
birth was an agony. She awoke the following morning with a dull
headache, a fainting heart, and a throat so sore that she felt a
painful catch whenever she tried to swallow. She used the spray; she
massaged her throat and neck vigorously. In vain; it was folly to
think of going where she might have to risk a trial of her voice that
day. The sun was brilliant and the air sharp without being humid or
too cold. She dressed, breakfasted, went out for a walk. The throat
grew worse, then better. She returned for luncheon, and afterward
began to think of packing, not that she had chosen a new place, but
because she wished to have some sort of a sense of action. But her
unhappiness drove her out again--to the park where the air was fine and
she could walk in comparative solitude.