"Yes, sir," Mead said, nodding slowly. He looked hesitantly at Marlowe.
"What's up, Boy?"
"Well, sir—" Mead began, then stopped. "Nothing important, really."
Marlowe gave him a surprising look full of sadness and brooding understanding.
"You're thinking he's an old, frightened man, and why don't we leave him alone?"
"Why ... yes, sir."
"Dave."
"Yes, Dave."
"You're quite right. Why don't we?"
"We can't, sir. I know that. But it doesn't seem fair—"