I ll soon teach you again.
O Peter, don t waste the fairy dust on me.
She had risen; and now at last a fear assailed him. What is it? he
cried, shrinking.
I will turn up the light, she said, and then you can see for
yourself.
For almost the only time in his life that I know of, Peter was afraid.
Don t turn up the light, he cried.
She let her hands play in the hair of the tragic boy. She was not a
little girl heart-broken about him; she was a grown woman smiling at it
all, but they were wet-eyed smiles.
Then she turned up the light, and Peter saw. He gave a cry of pain; and
when the tall beautiful creature stooped to lift him in her arms he
drew back sharply.
What is it? he cried again.
She had to tell him.
I am old, Peter. I am ever so much more than twenty. I grew up long
ago.
You promised not to!
I couldn t help it. I am a married woman, Peter.
No, you re not.
Yes, and the little girl in the bed is my baby.
No, she s not.
But he supposed she was; and he took a step towards the sleeping child
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