His face, that awful face. He didn’t know what scars he had, poor boy. You couldn’t say anything to him, with his blindness an’ all.
“. . . but not lucky, John.”
“I can’t express myself. And I cannot understand how you endure your life if you don’t see the fineness in its being as it is.”
“Endure it? Why, it just goes on. Oh, John, you will take me with you, won’t you?”
“What is going to happen to Mr. Entwhistle, then?”
“I can’t leave Father.”
“Does he want to go to the towns?”
“No, he says that would be running away, I don’t know what from, though.”
“You couldn’t leave him, June.”
“No.”