—It won't take long now. He'll die soon.
—Look at the candle. The flame is blue and thin and spreading sideways. There's no more wax. It's only the wick that's burning.
—It doesn't want to go out.
—When did you ever see a flame that did want to go out?
—Don't dispute, don't dispute. Whether it wants to go out, or doesn't want to go out, time is flying.
—Do you remember his motor car? He once almost ran me down.
—And his fifteen rooms?
—I was there a little while ago. The rats almost ate me up, and I caught a cold in the draught. Someone had stolen the window frames, and the wind was blowing through the whole house.
—Did you try the bed in which his wife died? Isn't it soft and nice?
—Yes, I went through all the rooms and let my fancy play a little. They have such a pretty nursery. It's a pity the window frames are knocked out there too, and the wind makes a racket with the litter on the floor. And the child's bed too is so dear. Now the rats have made their nest in it and breed their children there.