“That’s Quentin, the caretaker. I told you about him, remember? There’s nothing to be afraid of.” “You didn’t tell me he looked like a zombie.” “He isn’t a zombie.” She whispers, “Mom, he literally looks like he just rose from the dead. I’ve never seen a person that color in my life. He might as well be made of clay.” “We don’t criticize people for their appearance. Be kind to him.” I raise my hand in greeting to Quentin.
