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"Looks 'ealthy," the forward passenger would remark.
"
Bottle fed," the bus-driver would explain. "They say it 'olds a gallon
and 'ad to be specially made for 'im."
"
Very 'ealthy child any'ow," the forward passenger would conclude.
When Mrs. Redwood realized that his growth was indeed going on
indefinitely and logically--and this she really did for the first time
when the motor-perambulator arrived--she gave way to a passion of grief.
She declared she never wished to enter her nursery again, wished she was
dead, wished the child was dead, wished everybody was dead, wished she
had never married Redwood, wished no one ever married anybody, Ajaxed a
little, and retired to her own room, where she lived almost exclusively
on chicken broth for three days. When Redwood came to remonstrate with
her, she banged pillows about and wept and tangled her hair.
"
He's all right," said Redwood. "He's all the better for being big.
You wouldn't like him smaller than other people's children."
"I want him to be like other children, neither smaller nor bigger. I
wanted him to be a nice little boy, just as Georgina Phyllis is a nice
little girl, and I wanted to bring him up nicely in a nice way, and here
he is"--and the unfortunate woman's voice broke--"wearing number four
grown-up shoes and being wheeled about by--booboo!--Petroleum!
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