Thames sat with Winifred's hand clasped in his own, and commenced a recital of his adventures, which may be briefly told. This was enough for the poor widow. “So you’re the one my son has been talking about. Nothing. I get my driver's license tomorrow. There was a tearing sound and the cloth of her habit ripped apart as the smothered point drove through it, missing its intended target. ‘I thought—I thought I saw my—my husband. He had never liked to be hugged, but she wondered if his corporeal needs would be made apparent by human touch. In response to an almost imperative gesture from the nurse, Anna laid her hand upon his.
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