Henrietta’s eyes were closed, her tongue weary. She spoke fitfully. If I were to put the words together and interpret her allusions, this is roughly what they would add up to: When a woman is young, in full bloom, capable of filling the earth with sons and daughters, she isn’t always pleased to be producing children. When she ages, when her energies diminish and her sons and daughters leave home, her lot is bitter, ever so bitter. Because she is lonely, she would love to bear a child, but this is something she no longer has the strength to do.