She still held the child to her breast, but she was not looking at him; she was looking away through the window, rocking her body slightly backwards and forwards, either to soothe the child or to vent her own impatience.
Tyson's angry voice followed her.

"Of course you can help it.

Other women can.

You must wean the animal." She turned.

"Oh, Nevill, look at him--" "I don't want to look at him." "But--he's so ti-i-ny.