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—[Looking at her with a forced smile.] No, dear. Why?

—Then why don’t he play with Mary?

—[Gently.] No, dear, not today. Dada doesn’t feel like playing today.

—[Protestingly.] Yes, please, Dada!

—No, dear. Dada does feel sick—a little. He’s got a bad headache.

—Let Mary see. [''He bends his head. She pats his hair''.] Bad head.

—[Kissing her—with a smile.] There! It’s better now, dear, thank you. [''She cuddles up close against him. There is a pause during which each of them looks out seaward''.]

—[Pointing toward the sea.] Is that all wa-wa, Dada?

—Yes, dear.

—[Amazed by the magnitude of this conception.] Oh-oh! [She points to the horizon.] And it all stops there, over farver?

—No, it doesn’t stop. That line you see is called the horizon. It’s where the sea and sky meet. Just beyond that is where the good fairies live. [Checking himself—with a harsh laugh.] But you mustn’t ever believe in fairies. It’s bad luck. And besides, there aren’t any good fairies. [ looks up into his face with a puzzled expression.]

—Then if fairies don’t live there, what lives there?

—[Bitterly.] God knows! Mocking devils,