在冷冷的客厅里，母亲把亚瑟放在彩色照片下面:威尔士王子爱德华和亚历山德拉公主，乔治国王和玛丽王后。在他们下面的桌子上放着一个由亚瑟叔叔——阿瑟的父亲——射杀和填充的毛绒气球。自从亚瑟叔叔朝他开了一枪，他就没说过一句话。他把自己的忠告放在他那雪白的、结了冰的湖面上，放在大理石桌上。他的胸膛又深又白，冰冷而可爱抚;他的眼睛是红色的玻璃，非常令人满意。“来吧，”妈妈说，“来跟你的小表弟亚瑟说再见吧。”我被举起来，得到一朵铃兰放在亚瑟手里。亚瑟的棺木是一个小糖霜蛋糕，红眼睛的潜鸟从他那冰冻的白色湖面上注视着它。阿瑟个子很小。 He was all white, like a doll that hadn't been painted yet. Jack Frost had started to paint him the way he always painted the Maple Leaf (Forever). He had just begun on his hair, a few red strokes, and then Jack Frost had dropped the brush and left him white, forever. The gracious royal couples were warm in red and ermine; their feet were well wrapped up in the ladies' ermine trains. They invited Arthur to be the smallest page at court. But how could Arthur go, clutching his tiny lily, with his eyes shut up so tight and the roads deep in snow?