“After all, she is not my babe. Felimid mac Dall’s wife bore her.”
“Is it so?” Conachúr mused. “I had almost forgotten that old tale.”
“I had but the labour of rearing her, and of being disappointed by her,” she said bitterly.
“You did not fill my cup, Lavarcham.”
“I did, master, but you have emptied it.”
“Fill it again, good friend.... She was beautiful, Lavarcham! She was a thing of joy and wonder!”
“Young girls are beautiful while they are young, master, but in a few years they look like any other person.”
“You think so?”
“They get fat or they get thin. It is not girls that are lovely, master, it is youth.”