"The only child Chris ever had. He died five years ago."
"Five years ago?"
Why did it matter so?
"Yes," I said.
"He died five years ago, my Dick." Her eyes grew great. "How old was he?"
"Just two."
"My Dick was two." We both were breathing hard. "Why did he die?"
"We never knew. He was the loveliest boy, but delicate from his birth. At the end he just faded away, with the merest cold."
"So did my Dick—a chill. We thought he would be up and about the next day, and he just—"
Her awful gesture of regret was suddenly paralyzed. She seemed to be fighting her way to a discovery.