“Poor boy, not being able to see.”
“Call me John, dear, ‘boy’ is so young.”
“Poor John.”
“It has been awful without you.”
“Has it?”
“Everything is black. Before, even when one shut one’s eyes the eyelids were red if one were outside, but light now has been cut off from within. Nothing but black. One gets desperate sometimes, you know. There are times when I would like to kill myself, really, I mean.”
“But your eyelids when you closed them would be such a delicious colour for the lovely eyes inside.”
“Would they? Oh, but then you have never seen my eyes.”
“Perhaps not, but I can feel them just the same.”