His little body bent forward with his nightshirt unbuttoned, he was stretching and still yawning.
The instant his lips came together they curved into a blissfully sleepy smile, and with that smile he slowly and deliciously rolled back again.
"Seryozha!" she whispered, going noiselessly up to him.
When she was parted from him, and all this latter time when she had been feeling a fresh rush of love for him, she had pictured him as he was at four years old, when she had loved him most of all.
Now he was not even the same as when she had left him; he was still further from the four-year-old baby, more grown and thinner.