"I'm glad you've found it so," said Rachel. "You've got a wonder-world of your own, behind your eyes. Everything spins out for good for you sooner or later and somehow or other. You're lucky!" "Aren't you lucky, too? Haven't you liked this winter?" "Oh, I've liked it so-so! I've liked you." "Rachel, I wish you'd be happy. You've got those darling children." "I am happy where the children touch. And, oh, yes, they touch a long way round! But there's a gap in the circle where you go out lonely and come in lonely." "That's true of everybody's circle:--mine, yours, everybody's. But you chafe so. You blow the coals with your breath." "I don't need to blow the coal. It burns without that.... Let me tell you, Hagar. There are two kinds of people in the world. The people who are half or maybe two thirds the way out of the pit and the mire and the slough and the shadow so thick you can cut it! They are rising still, and their garments are getting clean and white, and they can see the wonderful round landscape, and they look at it with calm, wide eyes. They're nearly out; they're more or less spectators. The other kind--they're the poor, dull, infuriated actors. They're still in; they can hardly see even the rim of the pit. The first kind wants to help and does help. It's willing for the others to lay hold of its hands, its skirts, to drag out by. It's willing as an angel, and often the others wouldn't get out at all if it didn't give aid. But it's seen, of course, and it's away beyond.... People like Elizabeth Eden, for instance.... But the other kind--my kind.--It's all personal with us yet--we're fighting and loving and hating, down here in the muck and turmoil--all of us who are yet devils, and those who are half-devils, and those of us who are just getting vision and finding the stepping-stones--the animal and the half-animal, and those who've only got pointed ears--all resenting and striking out and trampling one another, knowing, some of us, that there are better things and yet not knowing how to get the shining garments; others not caring--Oh, I tell you, life's a bubbling cauldron!" "I know it is--deep above and deep below. But--" Rachel rose, went to the window, and stood, brow against the pane, looking out. The rain dashed against the glass; all the street lights were blurred; the gusty wind shook the bare boughs of the one tree upon the block, "You don't know anything about my married life. Well, I'm going to tell you."