Note 53 — Chapter Thirty-two

Leslie died yesterday. I suppose we were what you would call prepared for the end. Winslow closed his eyes. The President of the United States drew a sheet up over his face. He lies downstairs in a white coffin. At forty-eight Leslie’s coffin would have to be white. He never had any age to him. Only youth. I can’t realize that my boy who remained a child for me is gone. To think I must go on waking up every day and never again know what it is to be needed by him—my dear darling——