The Uncle. I cannot imagine it.
The Father. They are certainly to be pitied.
The Uncle. Not to know where one is, not to know where one has come from, not to know whither one is going, not to be able to distinguish midday from midnight, or summer from winter—and always darkness, darkness! I would rather not live. Is it absolutely incurable?
The Father. Apparently so.
The Uncle. But he is not absolutely blind?
The Father. He can perceive a strong light.
The Uncle. Let us take care of our poor eyes.
The Father. He often has strange ideas.
The Uncle. At times he is not at all amusing.
The Father. He says absolutely everything he thinks.