“No, Cyril is seven,” she replied, shaking her head. “I was asking how old you are.” “Well, I’m seven too,” he said. “We both are.” “Both seven,” she said almost in a whisper. “Isn’t that a bit of a coincidence?” “I don’t think it is really,” he said, considering it. “Everyone in my class at school is seven. And everyone in Cyril’s too, I imagine. There’s probably the same number of seven-year-olds in Dublin as there are people of any age.” “Perhaps,” replied Maude, unconvinced.
