And what I wept for most was my baby...." "Why, had you one ?" And Shatov, who had been listening attentively all the time, nudged me with his elbow.
"Why, of course.

A little rosy baby with tiny little nails, and my only grief is I can't remember whether it was a boy or a girl.

Sometimes I remember it was a boy, and sometimes it was a girl.

And when he was born, I wrapped him in cambric and lace, and put pink ribbons on him, strewed him with flowers, got him ready, said prayers over him.

I took him away un-christened and carried him through the forest, and I was afraid of the forest, and I was frightened, and what I weep for most is that I had a baby and I never had a husband." "Perhaps you had one ?" Shatov queried cautiously.
"You're absurd, Shatushka, with your reflections.