People won't know what to make of it.
We must at least have a sub-title." "The title's a matter of absolute indifference to me," said Conrad: "perhaps you can find one." "I will think it over.

May I take the manuscript away again?
I must try and become literary in my old age.

If a carpenter lad can write a whole book, surely a Franciscan monk can find a title! Have you anything on your mind, my son?
No?
Then God be with you.

I will come again soon." At the door he turned: "Tell me, my son, does the jailer give you food enough ?" "Yes, more than I need." * * * * * * Outside it was hot summer-time.

Conrad knew nothing of it, he had not thought of it.