Isaac was next. He began talking in his sleep, supposedly to Sybil, but this soon evolved into a fast-paced conversations with any inanimate object in the house. He would gaze at the supper table while recounting how his day had been; he would murmur Sybil’s name under his breath with his head stuffed into the bed-pillows. Everard brought him stew, the one he liked, made from the potatoes grown out back. Isaac, however, could not eat the meal without it coming back up in a matter of minutes.