The Surgeon. Or angels?
The Visitor. Call them what you like.
The Surgeon. Well, then?
The Visitor. I thought I saw something. (Apologetically.) The light is so dim.
The Surgeon. The men in the next room don't like bright lights.
The Visitor. But you can keep the door closed.
The Surgeon. (shaking his head). It won't stay closed. It's rickety—like everything else in the building. (He crosses to the windows.) I'll open the curtains if you like.
The Visitor. (watching him). Aren't you afraid of the Zeppelins?
The Surgeon. Too much of a fatalist for that. They were here a week ago.
The Visitor. And didn't hurt you?
The Surgeon. Blew up yards and yards of pavement with the result that we had to lay wooden boards in the street. The hospital wasn't damaged.
The Visitor. (evidently referring to a previous conversation). Another miracle!
The Surgeon. What?
The Visitor. (mildly bantering). You seem to live in the midst of the supernatural!
The Surgeon. (nodding gravely). Yes.
The Visitor. And you were born in Bangor,
