"You cannot blame the children, my husband! They are all good. Only circumstances change them. The times devour their innocent little souls and burn into their hearts the hatred that grows as they do!"
Brook walked about the room and motioned to Lloyd, with his glass if he would like some more wine, and he accepted. He took Lloyd's glass and poured himself and his guest some more wine. He glanced at Dearborne's glass, but she hadn't yet taken a single swallow from it.
"I don't blame them, my love. The devil — the evil — is in all of them. They discover it during their transitions. Some of these mischievous children discover their good and their evil, and some find it to their advantage, that evil is of more benefit to them. So turns the world." Brook exclaimed to his wife and gulped his wine. He studied her for a few moments, in puzzlement, and wondered why she hadn't touched her wine. Then, as if his thoughts touched hers, she stopped rolling her yarn and put the glass to her precious lips and like a little bird, took a sip. However, Brook saw that she was not enjoying it and he worried that something was wrong, but he didn't pry her with questions. He felt that she would eventually come to him herself, when she found the time to be right for her.
Lloyd, on the couch, still peered out the window at the street. He kept an open ear to the exchange between his host and hostess, and he slowly drank his wine. In the distance he noticed some of the farmers irrigating their farm terraces with water, mechanically drawn from the Artesian reservoirs beneath the city.
Throughout the evening, from the time the sun had begun to drowse until it finally bedded-down for the night, Brook paced about the room. He was deeply into his thoughts, and he occasionally surveyed his beloved wife, Dearborne, and also his guest Lloyd. Lloyd maintained his stare out the window during this lulling tide of time. Mesmerized by the beauty of this land, he still longed to see Besten again. Brook empathized with Lloyd's sentiment and left him to it until he felt that Lloyd's thoughts, were causing him to brood and Brook did not want to see people, brooding in the house. He recognized that Dearborne was on the verge of breaking under the strain of trying to prevent her own, and he did not want to see Lloyd in a moody state.
He finally sat at the end of the couch that Lloyd was on, choosing the end closer to his wife. He stared at Dearborne, then at his other side, at Lloyd. His voice attained the quality of a seer. "The days pass too quickly, for one to hold-onto the precious moments in life, however trifle and few!" he stated with the strength of compassion, understanding and love, and in his ultimate wisdom, he imparted to those close to him a morbid idea. "We must all one day die — and may it be in peace, and with God!" When he finished, he saw a shiny tear trickle down Dearborne's flushed cheek.
She sipped at her wine once more, put it on the table in front of her and pushed it away.
Brooks and Lloyd watched as she set the drink down, and for a while, the only sounds that were heard in the parlour were that of breathing and the rustling of their clothes. He observed her and he loathed to see the torment that churned within her beautiful eyes. He finally found it within himself, to question her behaviour.
"Something troubles you, my Love? Don't you like the drink?" he asked, with worry.
Lloyd reckoned the Lady and her glass, drawing a feeble connection between them, that he thought was the reason behind her moody behaviour.