[He notes the casual use of human there, as if he isn't one, though he'd be the first on that Jopson knows to be able to travel in such a way. It makes sense that he would be something - else. Something different. He doesn't ask, thinking such things might reveal themselves in time.]

I don't mind the talking.

[He continues around the edge of the lake, occasionally leaning down to pick through the small sprouts of cattails or rocks.]

In '42, I would have - no. [He laughs a little sheepishly.] I wasn't in London. I was in Antarctica then. We wouldn't return until '43.

[It seems like decades ago. Centuries. Another life.]