She looked at him gravely and squinted. "Yes, your son, Madam. She could not be more than twenty; and though want and other suffering had done the work of time, had wasted her frame, and robbed her cheek of its bloom and roundness, they had not extinguished the lustre of her eyes, nor thinned her raven hair. The guards, horse and foot, and constables formed a wide circle round it to keep off the mob. She addresses you as the Flower of the Lotus, as the Resplendent Moonbeam. “Not like it’s your fault if you wake up one day and decide you hanker for a nice piece of ass, a ten-minute tumble.
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