Caravaggio The Cardsharps painting

me flowers, but the room was full of them. Lucy lay in bed; slack and smiling. I sat down by her and held her hand. “Everyone’s been so sweet,” she said. “Have you seen my baby?”
“No.”
“He’s in the dressing room. Ask Kempy to show you.”
“Are you pleased with him?”
“I love him. I do really. I never thought I should. He’s such a person.”
This was incomprehensible.
“You haven’t gone bald,” I said.
“No, but my hair’s terrible. What did you do yesterday?”
“I got drunk.”
“So did poor Roger. Were you with him?”
“No,” I said, “it was really very amusing.” I began to tell her about Atwater, but she was not listening.
Then Sister Kemp came in with more flowers—from Mr. Benwell.
“How sweet he is,” said Lucy.