He was keen to get to work, but the inspiration would not come. Her motherly features creased into anxious wrinkles. So far he had not stirred; from his bloodless lips had come no sound. He's got the gift of the gab. “You are very kind to think of it,” she said, “but—don’t you think perhaps—that I had better not?” He smiled indulgently. Forgive me if a certain warmth creeps into my words! The Park is green and gray to-day, but I am glowing pink and gold. She could feel his warm little body trying to snuggle into her, trying to wriggle loose of his swaddling cloth.
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