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 "Good-night, beloved. Sleep well, my darling darlingest."

Miss Waterlow is remembering something something very beautiful but it all happened so long ago that she has forgotten the beginning of it before she remembers the end.

"Oh, my lovely, when you look like that you make me want to cry. What are you thinking of, darlingest?"

Miss Waterlow won't tell.

Yet perhaps for a moment Mrs. Waterlow has been there, too.

"God bless you, my lovely," she says, and puts out the light.

Miss Waterlow is alone.

Miss Waterlow at this time was one. It is a tremendous age to be, and often she would lie on her back and laugh to think of all the babies who were None. When