"But can't they tie themselves up with bits of rag and make it all right and stop the blooding?"
"Not when it cuts into their hearts, they can't. Even a whole tablecloth couldn't stop the bleeding then."
"What happens then?"
"They get all still like the moles."
"And are they dead then?"
"No, that's where it's so difficult to explain. If I were to say--that's death, but they're not dead--how could you understand?"
"Couldn't," he agreed, and leant his head up against her cheek, sympathizing with her difficulties. "I've always thought death was being quite dead."
"Nothing's quite dead," she repeated, half to herself, as though by the reiteration of that she might capture out of the void the inspiration for what she wanted to say.
"Do you remember what I told you about God?" she asked suddenly.
He nodded his head.