"Yes, child, aren't you young?..."
"But, Mr. Takma, I'm sixty!"
"Are you sixty?... Are you sixty?... Child, do you mean to tell me you're sixty?"
The old man cudgelled his brains, fighting against a sudden cloud in his memory that hazed around him like a mist. And he continued:
"No, you must be mistaken. You can't be sixty."
"Yes, really, Mr. Takma, really: I'm sixty!"
"Oh, Lietje, my child, are you really ... as old ... as that!"
He cudgelled his brains ... and closed his eyes:
"Sixty!" he muttered. "More than sixty ... more than sixty years ..."
"No, sixty exactly."