The fire crackles in the kitchen range, and big dishev-
eled clouds of steam stick their faces up against the
window panes.
At the table, the child is writing. Leaning over him,
the father guides his wobbling hand. ‘Try!’ he says.
‘That’s better—that’s good.’ Then, ‘It’s late.’
the father guides his wobbling hand. ‘Try!’ he says.
‘That’s better—that’s good.’ Then, ‘It’s late.’
