Mother and Son XI. “I’m going to talk of indifferent themes,” said Ramage, a little fussily, “until these interruptions of the service are over. Little things, almost impalpable, had happened to justify that doubt; something in his manner had belied his words. She hated living like that. She let go of him and stood up, straightening herself. The popcorn dwindled to a half a bucket, his heart settled into its normal routine. They could no longer stay in one place. She so wanted to keep her memory of him fresh, so wanted to memorize his kisses and to conjure his embrace someday when he was mere dust in the ground.
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