Little Jon answered shyly:

“Guinevere! it’s out of the Round Table⁠—I’ve only just thought of it, only of course her hair was down.”

His mother’s eyes, looking past him, seemed to float.

“You won’t forget to come, Mum?”

“Not if you’ll go to sleep.”

“That’s a bargain, then.” And little Jon screwed up his eyes.

He felt her lips on his forehead, heard her footsteps; opened his eyes to see her gliding through the doorway, and, sighing, screwed them up again.

Then Time began.