She could not say a word, much less move. ‘Don’t want it to break out bleeding again. She was ashamed of herself for the simple gladness she felt wash over her as the infant’s screams ended. “I never dreamt!” she said. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. And Pottiswick, of course. Her heart in her mouth, she heard his foot scrape on the floorboard and knew from his expression that Gosse had heard it too.
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