After a moment Eleanor looked round, calmly took the photograph of the child from the table, and held it towards Lucy.
'He was just two--his birthday was four days before this was taken.
It's the picture I love best, because I last saw him like that--in his night-gown.

I was very ill that night--they wouldn't let me stay with my husband--but after I left him, I came and rocked the baby and tucked him up--and leant my face against his.

He was so warm and sweet always in his sleep.

The touch of him--and the scent of him--his dear breath--and his curls--and the moist little hands--sometimes they used to intoxicate me--to give me life--like wine.

They did me such good--that night.' Her voice did not tremble.