"I can't always separate them, the dreams from the real.

Have I been sick, Donald ?" "Yes, lad.

You're sick now." The gardener closed his eyes, and lay silent.
"Do you think he's sane ?" whispered Uncle John.
"I do, sir.

He's sane for the first time in years." James looked at them again, and slowly raised his hand to wipe the damp from his forehead.
"About Master Tom," he said, falteringly.

"Master Tom's dead, ain't he ?" "Yes, Jeemes." "That was real, then, an' no dream.