"He thought himself incurable."
"Still, he was strong?"
"Physically."
"He was like Guy, wasn't he?"
"Yes, Guy is very like him, to look at. . . . He was tall, broad, fair-haired . . ."
"Yes, that's how I remember him. I was eight years old then."
"You were a jolly little tribe."
"And now we're nothing but a burden . . . to you. . . ."
"Nonsense, it's not as bad as that!"
"I hope things'll go better . . . Addie . . . at Amsterdam. . . ."
"Why aren't you more talkative, Alex? . . . You haven't been for a long time."
"Haven't I?"
"You never talk, at home . . . to the others. Only once in a way to me . . . when we are alone. It was after Alkmaar that you became so silent. It wasn't surely because I was angry at the time?"
"Perhaps, partly . . ."
"Well?"
"I daren't tell you."
"Tell me, Alex, if there is anything I can do for you."
"You do so much as it is, Addie. . . . You do everything."
"But speak quite openly. Perhaps there is something more that I can do for you."
"No, what could there be?"
"Something's upsetting you."
"No . . ."
"You're unhappy."
"No . . ."
"You're so reserved."
"I . . . never talk much."
