Hm. [For a short while, this monosyllabic is the only response. It's a strange situation. Beckett resents presupposed loyalties more than anything else in the world; no one claims him, and if he'd always resisted the association by blood on which Kindred society hinges, how much lesser in the association by mortal birth? But England puts it in terms he didn't quite expect. There's still resentment there, too deep-rooted to consciously dislodge, but there is also curiosity.]

I have heard of the spiritual embodiment of certain ideas. Not nationhood, but cities, if they have sufficient character... you aren't a spirit. [And after a moment, because that is always on his mind:] and you are now, de facto, as human as anyone else here.