“Yes, it is all so real, and yet there is something we shall always miss.”
They were standing together at the study window, looking out into the garden that was lit with flowers. Polyanthuses were as so many gems scattered on the brown earth of the beds. An almond-tree was still in bloom, a blush of pink against the sky. Tulips, red, white, and yellow, lifted their cups to the falling dew.
“It can never be the same, dear.”
“No.”
“Gwen?”
“Yes, our little one. And yet—in death—”
“In death?”
“My child has given me victory over myself. As I trust God, dear, I believe that curse is dead.”
“Yes, it is dead.”
“The house is cleansed; we have come home together. I am ready now to face my fellow-men.”