"No, you can't," said Harry, smilingly and a little teasingly.
Catching at her ankle and flinging her curls, she made an unstaggering
and easy ascent of not four, but eight.
"There!" she cried, slapping Harry boldly and resoundingly on the cheek.
"Don't you ever dare say I cannot do what I know I can do."
It left the red print of her little hand, and it was literally as if, as
he looked away from her, he had turned the other cheek.
Almost immediately she caught his hand, placing her warm face to its
back.
"Harry, I'm a devil! I'm sorry. You know I don't mean to be a devil.
Harry! Are you angry? You're not! Please! Be nice, Harry--tell me a
story--Har-ry."
"Once upon a time--" he began, his light-blue eyes almost with the
patient look of the blind.
A little later, there occurred an infinitesimal but telling incident
which served to dissipate whatever growing qualms may have disturbed
Lilly over the rearing of her child in this atmosphere of petty crime.
One evening, while Harry was performing his willing chore of carrying
out for his grandmother the little dinner prepared by Mrs.
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