They sat like that, without words, the three old people. The light was waning outside; and a bleak autumnal wind drove the first yellow leaves through the gardens of the Sofialaan.
"You're out too late, Takma," said the doctor.
"No, no," said the old man.
"It gets chilly early, at this season."
"No, no, I'm not chilly."
"Yes, you're always blazing hot inside."
"Yes, just as you're always getting fatter."
The doctor gave an explosive laugh, not viciously this time, because he had got his joke in first; and Takma also laughed, with a shrill, cracked note. The old woman did not speak, leant over slightly, looked out of the window. The dusk of evening was already gathering over the Nassaulaan.
"Look," said the old woman, pointing with her trembling, slender, wand-like finger.
"What?" asked the two men, looking out.