“The thing is this, Merle. If we have courage to live at all, we must look facts in the face as they are.”
“Yes, dear, but tell me . . .”
“And the facts are that with my health as it now is I cannot possibly get any employment. It is certain that I cannot. And as that is the case, we may as well be here as anywhere else.”
“But can we stay on here, Peer?”
“If you can bear to stay with a miserable bungler like me—that, of course, is a question.”
“Answer me—can we stay here?”
“Yes. But it may be years, Merle, before I’m fit to work again—we’ve got to reckon with that. And to live on charity year after year is what I cannot and will not endure.”
“But what are we to do, then, Peer? There seems to be no possible way for me to earn any money.”
“I can try, at any rate,” he answered, looking out of the window.
“You? Oh no, Peer. Even if you could get work as a draughtsman, you know quite well that your eyes would never stand . . .”