Only, the gazing forward had become interdicted to her experienced self.

Nor could she vision a future having any horizon for her child.

She saw it in bleak squares, and snuggled him between dangers weathered and dangers apprehended.
The conviction that her husband hated her had sunk into her nature.
Hating the mother, he would not love her boy.

He was her boy, and strangely bestowed, not beautifully to be remembered rapturously or gratefully, and with deep love of the father.

She felt the wound recollection dealt her.