“Of course. She could feel his warm little body trying to snuggle into her, trying to wriggle loose of his swaddling cloth. To her mind, recalling the picture of him the night before, there had been something tragic in the grim silent manner of his tippling. White leaned forward in her chair with an anxious smile designed to throw oil upon the troubled waters. “Come,” he said, “you can’t be meaning to bury yourself. She hung about his chair, followed him to the door, touched his sleeve timidly, all the while striving to pronounce the words which refused to rise to her tongue.
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