“No, no—none of your chocolate. Something a bit more solid: ham, eggs.... I’m ferociously hungry.”
“Good! I’ll tell them to get your breakfast ready.”
“Is everybody well?”
“Everybody. Come and see them.”
They followed a narrow corridor and entered a room where two boys, aged fifteen and twelve respectively, had just finished dressing. Quentin embraced them none too effusively, and from the larger room they went into a bedroom, where a little girl between eight and nine years old was sleeping in a huge bed.
“Is that Dolores?” asked Quentin.
“Yes.”
“The last time I saw her she was a tiny little thing. How pretty she is!”
The child awoke, and seeing a stranger before her, became frightened.
“But it’s your brother Quentin, who has just arrived.”