“Roelf he works by the farm.”
“Doesn’t Roelf like school?”
“But sure.”
“Don’t you think he ought to go to school?”
“But sure.”
Having begun, she could not go back. “Doesn’t your wife want Roelf to go to school any more?”
“Maartje? But sure.”
She gathered herself together; hurled herself behind the next question. “Then why doesn’t he go to school, for pity’s sake!”
Klaas Pool’s pale blue eyes were fixed on the spot between the horse’s ears. His face was serene, placid, patient.
“Roelf he works by the farm.”