“Yes, yes,” he said gently, softly, contradicting her. “Yes, evil, and pitiful, and weak”; he seemed to be trying to remember something. “What is it that I have overlooked?” He asked the question in such a confused voice that she was startled.
“Is it hate?” she asked.
“I guess so, yes, I guess that’s it.”
“Kahn, try to think—there must be something else.”
“Madness.”
She began to shiver.
“Are you cold?”
“No, it’s not cold.”
“No, it’s not cold,” he repeated after her. “You are not cold, Emma, you are a child.”
Tears began to roll down her cheeks.