“No," she says, no. I won't think about it. I won't be here next year to see Harry's rhodies come in again. You kept me alive, Harry; it's the truth; you did. All winter I was fighting the grave and then in April I looked out the window and here was this tall young man burning my old stalks and I knew life hadn't left me. That's what you have, Harry: life. It's a strange gift and I don't know how we're supposed to use it but I know it's the only gift we get and it's a good one. Her crystal eyes have filmed with a liquid thicker than tears and she grabs his arms above his elbows with hard brown claws. Fine strong young man," she murmurs, and her eyes come back into focus as she adds, "You have a proud son; take care.”