There was something horribly pathetic in the whole picture.

The child-mother, her rough, unlovely face lighted for a moment with that gleam from Paradise which men never know; the huge man bending over her, and between them the wizened, disease-stricken little waif of humanity.
"When he was born he was a very fine child," said the mother.
Paul glanced at her.

She was quite serious.

She was looking at him with a strange pride on her face.

Paul nodded and drew aside the shawl.