“The same as yours, mummy.”
“And the same as yours, darling.”
When anyone found him in any way like her, Peter was glad.—If he waited patiently, the blue eyes would open and stare straight past him, seeing visions of another world.
“She sees something, mummy.”
“God, perhaps.”
Peter thought he knew better, for he heard quite near, yet so softly that it might have been far away, the violinlike whisper of one who whistled beneath her breath.
“Dearest, was Peter like that?”
“Peter and everybody.”
There were times when he was allowed to slip his finger between those of the tiny fisted hand. When he felt their pressure, they seemed to say, “I’m yours, Peter-kins. Take care of me, won’t you?”
He was sure she knew that he had seen God make her.