“I believe it is. The tired woman looked up in inquiring silence at Ann Veronica’s diffident entry. He delayed the blow till the fortunate conjuncture was past. ’ Roding left the house instantly, not even pausing to nod. She felt scrawny, lanky, badly dressed in a baggy black T-shirt, sweaty, not at all beautiful; not even pretty. Perhaps some one had kissed the brow that was now so cadaverous, rubbed that sunken cheek with loving fingers, held that stringy neck with passionately living hands. The child was now within reach; and, in another moment, he would have executed his deadly purpose, if an arm from behind had not felled him to the ground. I will make her my Grail, and some day, perhaps, if God wills, she shall become my wife!’” He looked very hard before him as he said this, and his voice was full of deep feeling. "Your son," answered the boy. A little table covered with a damask cloth was dragged out.
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