“Am I not dead?”

“I cannot understand what you say. Your voice is so low and broken that I cannot hear you. Do you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Do you mean Yes?”

“Yes.”

“I was coming from my work just now, along the path outside (I was up with the night-hands last night), and I heard a groan, and found you lying here.”

“What work, deary?”

“Did you ask what work? At the paper-mill.”

“Where is it?”

“Your face is turned up to the sky, and you can’t see it. It is close by. You can see my face, here, between you and the sky?”