She doesn't love you; she hasn't the least idea what it means beyond what she has read in novels. I’d do anything, Vee. He was about to cut the sergeant short, when his eye fell on a gentleman walking along Piccadilly, his manner uncertain, his eyes shifting as if he sought something out. Was it that the struggle of things to survive produced as a sort of necessary byproduct these intense preferences and appreciations, or was it that some mystical outer thing, some great force, drove life beautyward, even in spite of expediency, regardless of survival value and all the manifest discretions of life? She went to Capes with that riddle and put it to him very carefully and clearly, and he talked well—he always talked at some length when she took a difficulty to him—and sent her to a various literature upon the markings of butterflies, the incomprehensible elaboration and splendor of birds of Paradise and hummingbirds’ plumes, the patterning of tigers, and a leopard’s spots. She appeared to be considering. She was wholly unable to conceal her knowledge of his presence. A hollow feeling opened up inside her, and she felt her heartbeat quicken. He had a blue overstuffed couch, his own television, even a computer with its own desk. V. Sheppard, gently, "nor do I need any. The Ragged Edge.
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