Yes. They are.

[Goodsir smiles sadly. There's no denying the fact, and nothing to be done for it. Some days it's manageable. Other days, it is difficult to get out of bed.

He sits for a moment, silent, before he stands and moves to the small desk set against one wall. He picks up one of the books from its surface and returns, opening it to a page he's marked with a scrap of paper as he moves to Tim's side. He leans down so he can show Tim the open page, where there is a full colour photograph of seemingly endless rock and sky.]

This is King William Island - it is an island, as it turns out - I believe in the spring.

I thought, ah. I should like to show you, you see. The sky. How beautiful it is. It-- one moment.

[A flip of the page, another photograph above a page of text. The Northern lights. Goodsir touches the paper lightly, and his voice grows softer still.]

I've seen this. It's magnificent.

[It is plain that Goodsir is trying to make Tim feel better by sharing something he finds beautiful. It's awkward, but earnest, like a child offering a toy to someone who's skinned their knee.]

Photography has certainly improved. None of the photographs I ever took were remotely so fine.