( Caramel apples. He tries the words on his tongue, finds them sweet with residue. He wants this again, another — ...fruit? And so he nods, effusive and fond of his iminent prize.

Only, the doctor hasn't said — )

...and I'll have some?

( After all, him bringing the apples doesn't mean he'll be fast to share them. In fact, so few are. )

I'll be good. I'll... I'll... shine yer shoes? Or stitch your buttons? Your cuffs? ( What's a gentleman wanting? ) A hat, if you've got one. I'll clean it?