"It's all so—so good," he murmured, more to himself than to her.
"What's good?"
He reached out for the trail of bryony in her lap and fingered it wonderingly, without speaking for a while. Then, lifting his hand, he laid it for a moment against her upper arm—the lightest touch—no more.
"You," he said. "You—and everything."
"Of all the queer boys—" she began, and broke off with a catch of the breath. "Hulloa!"
The boy looked up to see her eyes fixed, round and wide, on his naked shoulder.
"What's that mark you got there?" she demanded.
"This?" He put up a hand to a pattern of four diamonds joined in a horizontal line. "I don't know. I've wondered sometimes—"
"But you must 'ave come by it some'ow. Can't you remember?"
He shook his head.