"Yes." It's not clear what he's saying yes to, when in fact, it's everything. Yes, of course you belong to Timo; yes, you arrived last night; yes, it rained.

"It's always raining... it's England. You've settled in well, I see." Maybe, maybe not, but the beginnings are there. "What's your name?"

Small boys like sweets. He isn't in the habit of charming small boys, but a relatively appeased child will probably be a quiet and well-behaved one. As he waits for an answer, he produces a small tin from the pocket of his morning coat, opens it, and removes two small hard lemon sugar pastilles. One is held out, by his fingertips, to the child; the other is popped into his own mouth.