"What's the matter, kid? Starting to crack?"
"I don't know. Maybe. When are we going to stop somewhere?"
"When we find a place to stop."
"Is there a place to stop? Seems like ever since I was born we've been hunting. There's always something wrong. Hostile natives, or fever, or bad soil, always something, and we go on again. It's not right. It's not any way to try to live."
Harker said, "I told you not to go having kids."
"What's that got to do with it?"
"You start worrying. The kid isn't even here yet, and already you're worrying."
"Sure I am." McLaren put his head in his hands suddenly and swore. Harker knew he did that to keep from crying. "I'm worried," McLaren said, "that maybe the same thing'll happen to my wife and kid that happened to yours. We got fever aboard."
Harker's eyes were like blown coals for an instant. Then he glanced up at the sail and said, "They'd be better off if it didn't live."
"That's no kind of a thing to say."