"You talk as if you'd all your life before you—and you must be nearly eighty-five."
"I döan't feel old—at least not often. I still feel young enough to have a whack at the Fair-pläace."
"So you haven't changed your idea of happiness?"
"How d'you mean?"
"Your idea of happiness always was getting something you wanted. Well, lately I've discovered my idea of happiness, and that's—wanting nothing."
"Then you have got wot you want," said Reuben cruelly.
"I don't think you understand."
"My old fäather used to say—'I want nothing that I haven't got, and so I've got nothing that I döan't want, surelye.'"
"It's all part of the same idea, only of course he had many more things than I have. I'm a poor woman, and lonely, and getting old. But"—and a ring of exaltation came into her voice, and the light of it into her eyes—"I want nothing."
"I wish you'd talk plain. If you never want anything, then you äun't präaperly alive. So you äun't happy—because you're dead."