"Why?"
"Because, for these next days, I can't come too."
I went on planting thyme.
"Promise me, for these next days you won't go either."
"Why?" I asked again.
"Because my thoughts might go wandering."
I nudged the wild thyme, and we both smiled secretly.
"I can't afford, just at this moment, to have anything distracting me." He said this in an anxious, almost appealing, way.
"Very well," I answered. "I won't go early walks for the next—how many days am I to be cooped up when the morning is at its best?"
"Oh, not long." Then with that impatience of his, if you were doing other things while he was there: "How much more of that stuff are you going to put in?"