“Yes, very comical. Blundering about in the dark yet knowing about everything really. I know I do. And I will tell the world.”
“Yes.”
“But do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“You see, June, no one cares enough, about the war and everything. No one really cared about my going blind.”
“Yes.”
“And I will write about these things—no one cares and I will be as uncaring as any. I will be a great writer one day, and people will be brought to see the famous blind man who lends people in his books the eyes that he lost, and . . .”
Poor John, he was properly off it now. She did not understand all this writing stuff; and how did one do it, it would be so difficult when one could not see the page?
“. . . but I am boring you.”
“No, you’re not. Do go on.”