Those two pink little objects, in their two
severely sanitary baskets, were factory products. At precise and
unalterable intervals, a highly scientific compound of fats and proteids
was put into them. They were inspected, weighed, submitted to a routine
of other processes. And in all the routine, there was nothing that their
mother, now they were fairly born, was wanted for. Indispensable to a
certain point, no doubt. But after that rather the other way about--an
obstacle to the routine instead of a part of it.
Rose kept these ideas to herself and kept her eye on young Doris;
listened to the orders she got; and studied alertly what she did in the
execution of them.
Rodney had a lovely time watching the twins bathed. He stood about in
everybody's way, made what he conceived to be alluring noises, in the
perfectly unsuccessful attempt to attract the infants' attention, and
finally, when the various processes were complete, on schedule, like a
limited train, and the thermometrically correct bottles of food were
ready, one for each baby, he turned suddenly to his wife and said:
"Don't you want to--hold them, Rose?" She'd have held a couple of
glowing brands in her arms for him, the way he had looked and the way
he had said it.
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