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Updated: May 21, 2025
It was not, but Peggy began preparations by screaming melodiously for Teresina. They heard the boarder sigh. He was a tall young man with inspired eyes and oily hair. Peter had observed him the night before, with some interest. "That's Guy Vyvian," Peggy told him, looking for Illuminato's dryer suit in the china cupboard. "Fancy," said Peter.
To her he was always about Illuminato's age, a most beloved infant. Peter smiled a little at her. "Why, yes, of course it's a joke. Everything is, isn't it. But ... but...." He was more than ever a child, stammering unwordable protest, blindly reaching out for help. Hilary stood before him now, with his hands in his pockets, nervous, irritable, weary, shame now masked by self-defence.
Peter said, "My word, suppose it broke!" It was natural that he should think of that; things so often broke. Only that morning his gold watch had broken, in Illuminato's active hands. Only that afternoon his bootlace had broken, and he had had none to replace it because Caterina had been sailing his other boots in the canal. Peter sighed over the lovely and brittle world.
When it had lasted for a moment, Peter looked up from his inspection of Illuminato's screwed-up face, with an effort, and met Hilary's eyes searching his own.
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