He never cries nor frets, as children generally do, but lies at my bosom, or on my knee, as quiet and as gentle as you see him now. Wild of the circumstance. She attempted by a sheer act of will to end the scene, to will herself out of it anywhere. The wastrel, the ne'er-do-well, who went mostly nobly to a fine end. A smile trembled at the corners of her mouth as she recalled Gerald’s ridiculous upbraiding of his own reflection in the mirror. Happen what might, he could not be in a worse position. ‘Shocked you, have I? We weren’t mealy-mouthed in my day, my boy.
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