"Ah! you are there, my dear young lady," said the widow, smiling faintly; "when I first waken, I'm always in dread of finding myself again in that horrible asylum. I wondered what you could be doing and what might be happening to you. If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. His mind seemed to be a remarkably full one; his knowledge of detailed reality came in just where her own mind was most weakly equipped. To go to him, to console him! But she stirred not from her hiding place. She was new, unlike any other woman he had met in all his wide travel. It's a sorry world," he went on. “Life’s so queer,” she said, kneeling and looking into the flames.
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