 Suppose they are pictures of you. What are they? Oh, just this. I found them in one of Mr. Crail's old photograph albums. My father, I mean. Here's something. The one lying on my tummy on the white bearskin rug. All babies get their pictures taken that way. Here, give it to me. Wait a second. What's this mark under your shoulder blade? It's a little birthmark, like a strawberry. It's clear. Look, honey. Why are you so interested in babies, Archie? Because I always thought I should have been a mother. Now, look, have you still got that mark on your back?