It is difficult to answer, said Mr Nixon. I seem to have known him all my life, but there must have been a period when I did not...
And you never mention him, said Mr hackett.
Why, said Mr Nixon, I may very well have mentioned him, there is really no reason why I should not. It is true -. He paused. He does not invite mention, he said, there are people like that...
[Y]ou might describe your friend a little more fully.
I really know nothing, said Mr Nixon.
But you must know something, said Mr Hackett. One does not part with five shillings to a shadow. Nationality, family, birthplace, confession, occupation, means of existance, distinctive signs, you cannot be in ignorance of all this.
Utter ignorance, said Mr Nixon.
He is not a native of these rocks, said Mr Hackett.
I tell you nothing is known, cried Mr Nixon. Nothing.
A silence followed these angry words, by Mr Hackett resented, by Mr Nixon repented.
He has a huge big red nose, said Mr Nixon grudgingly.
Beckett, Samuel. Watt. Grove Pres: New York, 1953. p18 - 21