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"It depends," said Miss Batchelor, a little maliciously (Really, the

woman was impossible, and such a hopeless fool!) Miss Batchelor's

habitually nervouswhen they

came

"Well--he's very small Just feel how small he is"

Instinctively Miss Batchelor held out her hands for the child, and in

anotherdrea He stretched himself, he writhed, he made himself

limp, he made himself stiff, he threw himself backwards recklessly; and

still Miss Batchelor held him And when he cried she held him all the

closer She let him explore the front of her dress with his little wet

reat many futile experiments of the

kind in the last two days Of those three worlds that were his, the world

of light, the world of sleep, and the world of his mother's breast, they

had taken away the one that he liked best--the war world of which

he had been lord and iven to his

hands to hold, and obedient to the pressure of his lips Since then he

had lived from feeble hope to hope; and nohen he struck upon that

hard and narrow tract of corduroy studded with coain his ar," said Mrs Nevill Tyson, "he can't help it He's

being weaned Don't let him slobber over your nice dress"

Certainly he had not improved the corduroy, but Miss Batchelor did not

seem to resent it

"Can't you nurse him?" she asked

"No," said Mrs Nevill Tyson