"Yes. If you don't touch me."
"I won't touch you. We've got to face the thing. It's making you ill."
"It isn't."
"What is, then?"
"Living with Papa."
He smiled through his agony. "That's only another name for it.
"It can't go on. Why shouldn't we be happy?
"Why shouldn't we?" he insisted. "It's not as if we hadn't tried."
"I—can't."
"You're afraid?"