She had no need to remember or consider. She knew every step and
process of the night. That was Laurie who lay opposite in a deep
sleep, his head on his arm, breathing deeply and regularly; and this
was the little smoking-room where she had seen the cigarettes laid
ready against his coming, last night.
There was still a log just alight on the hearth, she noticed. She got
out of her chair, softly and stiffly, for she felt intolerably languid
and tired. Besides, she must not disturb the boy. So she went down on
her knees, and, with infinite craft, picked out a coal or two from the
fender and dropped them neatly into the core of red-heat that still
smoldered. But a fragment of wood detached itself and fell with a
sharp sound; and she knew, even without turning her head, that the boy
had awakened. There was a faint inarticulate murmur, a rustle and a
long sigh.
Then she turned round.
Laurie was lying on his back, his arms clasped behind his head,
looking at her with a quiet meditative air. He appeared no more
astonished or perplexed than herself. He was a little white-looking
and tired in the light of dawn, but his eyes were bright and sure.
She rose from her knees again, still silent, and stood looking down on
him, and he looked back at her.
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