Asta.
Keep your arm still—then I won’t prick you.
Allmers.
[With a half-smile.] This is like the old days.
Asta.
Yes, don’t you think so?
Allmers.
When you were a little girl you used to sit just like this, mending my clothes. The first thing you ever sewed for me—that was black crape, too.
Asta.
Was it?