"Who is there?" asked Brook.
"Djenaud Smarte!" Lloyd replied.
"Djenaud Smarte, who?" asked Brook again, after being cued, once more.
"Djenaud as smart as I am!" said Lloyd and he laughed.
They found this cute little game somewhat interesting and continued to play it for a while until they ran out of names that could be made fun.
Brook soon became restless, when he saw that Dearborne wasn't reacting to their humour, without even the slightest grin.
Lloyd resumed his stare out the window. His spirited smile vanished from his face as quickly as the wine vanished from his glass, that he still held in his hand.
Out on the streets were groups of children walking together. Some chewed on the intoxicating seeds of the Orumen flower. Lloyd shook his head in disenchantment just as Brook also looked out the window and saw the same.
"Sweet children playing in the streets, grow up to become hated by their own kind. And soon they grow to hate themselves!" said Brook, as he turned to Lloyd and Dearborne, then further, "Is that not so?" the room was silent.
After a quarter-hour, while she slowly and perfectly wound her yarn into a tight ball, Dearborne finally broke the silence.