His interest increased.

Gently he stroked the fine silky down that covered its head, and then, growing bolder, touched its cheek.

The delicate skin was smooth as satin under his rough finger.
The child, pleased with his touch, smiled and clutched his finger, holding it with the tenacity of a monkey.

Jonah looked in wonder at that tiny hand, no bigger than a doll's.

His own fist, rough with toil, seemed enormous beside it.
Flesh of his flesh, he thought, half incredulous, as he compared his red, hairy skin with that delicate texture; amazed by this miracle of life--the renewal of the flesh that perishes.
Then he remembered his deformity, and, with a sudden catch in his breath, lifted the child from the cradle, and felt its back, a passionate fear in his heart: it was straight as a die.