“It is. I come here to enjoy the sunset.”

“You don’t.”

“Sir?”

“You never look at it.”

“Never look at it?”

“No. I’ve watched you thirteen nights, and not once have you looked at the sunset⁠—not once.”

He knitted his brows like one who encounters a problem.

“Well, I enjoy the sunlight⁠—the atmosphere⁠—I go along this path, through that gate”⁠—he jerked his head over his shoulder⁠—“and round⁠—”

“You don’t. You never have been. It’s all nonsense. There isn’t a way. Tonight, for instance⁠—”