I suspect he has a bit of vanity. “I thought you wanted to have a talk to me,” she said. She could feel his warm little body trying to snuggle into her, trying to wriggle loose of his swaddling cloth. “Don’t you know, child, that this is torture for me? What in God’s name more can you have to tell me?” Her face had become almost like a marble image. He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude. Water sprung from the corners of the school roof, turning it into a gigantic fountain.
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