"An invention for the Puritan mind. A burlesque. After all--!" "After all--what?" "In a better world--but skip it." She did. "You certainly know how to upset people," she said. "Now what?" "After lunch--I phoned Gwen--to come over this evening." "So?" "And after that--I began to feel jittery." "And now?" "I came over here." "To ask me how to feel? Ye Gods! I recommended having your own feelings--and I thought you were catching on." She was wearing a faintly rose-pink frock of some shiny, translucent material. You could see the garments beneath--you were supposed to see. There were two--and the lace hem of the lower one showed below the blush of her dress--as it was supposed to show. She looked like a kid. "I've got too many feelings at once." She walked toward the window, where I could now see her only by leaning a little. "I almost called Rol this afternoon." I said nothing. "Did you hear me?" "Yeah. Why didn't you?" "Because I wanted to see Gwen again. Once more, anyway." "Suppose she couldn't have come?" "That's unkind of you!" "Would a friend have done as well?" She didn't answer for so long that I leaned out again. She was swinging the cord of the window blind. The last debilitated glow in the sky made her look like a flower at twilight--like a single tinted object in a black-and-white photograph of a room. She caught sight of me. "Maybe even better," she said falteringly. "What sort of person am I!" "The sort that a person is, when a person begins finding out what sort." "But not the final discovery?" The turn and set of her head was eager. I couldn't see her eyes. "Who is?" "You mean--you think everybody--?" "Yes," I said, swirling the water around. "Everybody. Most--when they're young. Most grow out of it. Some--hardly notice it. Some have a minor case of it all their lives. To others--it's an intermittent hint--a leftover that crops up as a suggestion, not a fact. Lots--are carried off stage for good by it. The great majority insist they have no such feelings--never could and never did and never will. The result of that--" "Is what?" "Look out the window and see the crummy mess yourself, honey! If you'll toss me my dressing gown--from the closet--" "I'm scared," she said, when I came into the sitting room. I kissed her once. She said, "Again." So I really kissed her. She stepped away, afterwhile. "I'm not so scared now." "It's good for you to be." "Why is it?" "Because you so seldom knew you were. You spent your time trying to frighten other people--instead of knowing." "Not frighten. Impress, maybe--" "Another word for the same dirty deed: convince them of your inherent and cultivated superiority. Whenever people achieve that--they also convince others of their relative inferiority. And when that conviction comes from a false estimate of the situation--believe me, it's upsetting. Frightening is the realer word." "Which implies that I'm not superior to anybody in any way." "Check."