'Give me the flowers,' he muttered.
They were his first words. There was a large bowl of daffodils in the middle of the table, and she took them out of the water, deftly dried their stalks, and gave them to him. He took them with trembling hands and pressed them to his heart, then he buried his face in them, and the tears ran afresh, bedewing the yellow flowers.
Lucy put her arm around her father's neck and placed her cheek against his.
'Don't, father,' she whispered. 'You must try and forget.'
He leaned back, exhausted, and the pretty flowers fell at his feet.
'You know why they've let me out?' he said.
She kissed him, but did not answer.
'I'm so glad that we're together again,' she murmured.
'It's because I'm going to die.'
'No, you mustn't die. In a little while you'll get strong again. You have many years before you, and you'll be very happy.'