’ A derisive snort greeted this passage. “It sounds too ridiculous. We have only those phantoms called memories, which are the husks of dreams. In the twilight he had ceased to be a person one could tackle and shame; he had become something more general, a something that crawled and sneaked toward her and would not let her alone. I offered myself as a clerk, as a milliner, as a shop girl. Stow it in the saddle, for I will take it with me. Even you have not been able to hold her back. On the one hand, she seemed to think plainly and simply, and would talk serenely and freely about topics that most women have been trained either to avoid or conceal; and on the other she was unconscious, or else she had an air of being unconscious—that was the riddle—to all sorts of personal applications that almost any girl or woman, one might have thought, would have made.
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