(He sat, holding the bag on his knee, gradually losing what he held. The colour was gone out of those sails, although he would not look to make sure until he was back home. He held on to what he was losing by not allowing himself to find the glory had departed. Nevertheless, it made him critical of this lady and, because he had always had meals at regular hours and was now late for tea, he was hungry. “Where’s Nan?” he asked as they went. He was thinking of food. She imagined he must mean a little sister. If she had but known it, he was an only child. “She will be coming directly,” was her answer and, as she did not reveal the mistake she had made, he was satisfied.)

(Then a short dark walk, and they had arrived.)

Lying on the carriage seat the father groaned in discomfort. Going over that store in memory, he had just told himself that the light was as though he had been seeing the toys through Christmas cracker paper.

(The lady took Christopher into a room. It was very hot. It had a coal fire. He was surprised that she did not take off his things. She crouched by the fire. Looking back over her shoulder, she poked it, saying, “the darling, the darling.” She did not turn on the light, so that he could see her eyes only by their glitter, a sparkle by the fire, which, as it was disturbed to flame, sent her shadow reeling, gyrating round sprawling rosy walls. “I’ve done right haven’t I, the darling,” she murmured. “My tea,” he announced, surprised to find none.)

(He imagined this was a party. He could not think where the other children could be playing. He began to unwrap the boat. She came across to unbutton his jacket. Her fingers trembled. She had difficulty. Her shoulder blotted out all direct light. The sails were now as dark as the shadows of her face. He had to bend his head down to his knees to see the hull. A movement of her arm and, in a flickering reddish light, as though in a show of dark rose petals, all his boat glowed at him for a moment, no longer blue, but as if revealed by a beacon afire on foothills above a dark ocean. Another movement of her body and he could no longer see the sails, or no more than a glint. She breathed quick. She muttered, “the darling.” He was too hot. She went on at his coat. Then on a sudden he threw himself back. She had fumbled too much. “Don’t,” he cried out. Having voiced it he was very afraid. So much so that he did not at once begin to bawl and yell.)

(He screamed, “don’t.” She snatched away her hands which, out-spread before her face, wrists against mouth, fingers pointing at him, shook with urgency. “Hush dear,” she said quiet, “oh hush.” “Nan,” he shouted out. “For Christ’s sake,” she said and gulped, “your little sister’s coming, d’you hear.” Then he saw. For he knew he had no sister.)