"I know how often your sea brought me to you."
"Did it?"
"And, oh, my boy! at last the sea brought you to me."
"And the mill," he said. "Where has that brought us?"
"I thought perhaps you'd die."
"I couldn't have died so close on finding you. I was fighting the demons all the time—fighting my way through to you. And at last I opened my eyes and saw you again, your black hair edged with light against the window."
"My black hair? you mean my brown hair, don't you?"
"Oh, weren't you cross! I loved you for being cross."
"I wasn't cross. Why will you keep on saying I'm things I'm not?"
"You were so cross that you pretended our twenty years were sixty."