"I don't know. Perhaps--" He went with her to the door. "Perhaps," he
said, "quite a long time."
(But if he didn't live she would have killed him. She had known all the
time, and she had let him go.)
Through the dining-room window she could see Roddy as he crouched over
the hearth, holding out his hands to the fire.
He was hers, not Mamma's, to take care of. Sharp, delicious pain!