after one. The public school they all attended was just around the corner. Laetitia was three years older than Roddie, and Phillip was three years younger, and Esther (Esther, whom she mustn't think about) was three years younger than Phillip. Or would have been three years younger if she had lived.
Sheilah had given them the nicest names she knew. Rodney had been her favorite boy's name ever since she was a little girl. It stood for courage and honesty, straight shoulders and a clear eye; Laetitia for the sort of charm and delicacy one finds in fragile, slender-stemmed flowers; Phillip was the name of a young prince to her; and Esther had always meant a beautiful, white, still star. But they weren't like their names, except Esther, and Esther hadn't lived.
Strange how the fact that Esther hadn't lived kept repeating itself to Sheilah whenever she was tired, or particularly discouraged, outweighing in its significance the immediate cause for her despair. Of them all Esther hadn't lived, and of them all, Esther had been the only one who hadn't looked like a little Chinese baby when she was born—dark, amber-colored almost, with a lot of black straight hair and little red puffs with slanting slits in them for eyes. Well, she was glad Esther hadn't lived now. Poor little alien here.
Sheilah managed with the help of a wet dish-cloth
