EVANGELINE had a bad time in the nursing home. Bitter pangs rushed upon her, filled with violent futile effort, and receded. “Try now.” “Bear down,” and so on. But at last with a feeble cackle, a new Tewler was born into the world, and presented in due course wiped and washed to his exhausted mother.

Evangeline regarded her offspring with a hostile eye, over the corner of the sheet. She made no movement to touch it. “I knew it would look like Aim,” she said. “I knew.”

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