Who are you? he said at last in a half-frightened whisper. Are you a
ghost?
No, I am not, Mary answered, her own whisper sounding half
frightened. Are you one?
He stared and stared and stared. Mary could not help noticing what
strange eyes he had. They were agate gray and they looked too big for
his face because they had black lashes all round them.
No, he replied after waiting a moment or so. I am Colin.
Who is Colin? she faltered.
I am Colin Craven. Who are you?
I am Mary Lennox. Mr. Craven is my uncle.
He is my father, said the boy.
Your father! gasped Mary. No one ever told me he had a boy! Why
didn t they?
Come here, he said, still keeping his strange eyes fixed on her with
an anxious expression.
She came close to the bed and he put out his hand and touched her.
You are real, aren t you? he said. I have such real dreams very
often. You might be one of them.
Mary had slipped on a woolen wrapper before she left her room and she
put a piece of it between his fingers.
Rub that and see how thick and warm it is, she said. I will pinch
you a little if you like, to show you how real I am. For a minute I
thought you might be a dream too.
Where did you come from? he asked.
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