these things. Yet he was tense, feeling that he and the elderly, estranged woman were conferring together like traitors, like enemies within the camp of the other people. He resembled a deer, that throws one ear back upon the trail behind, and one ear forward, to know what is ahead.

‘People don’t really matter,’ he said, rather unwilling to continue.

The mother looked up at him with sudden, dark interrogation, as if doubting his sincerity.

‘How do you mean, MATTER?’ she asked sharply.

‘Not many people are anything at all,’ he answered, forced to go deeper than he wanted to. ‘They jingle and giggle. It would be much better if they were just wiped out. Essentially, they don’t exist, they aren’t