“Don’t you?” she repeated.
She was more than glorious. Her own gameness had fought the problem for her. She required assistance from no one.
“Yes,” was all he was able to say, his emotions crowding him.
“Do you write a whole lot?”
“Yes, lots and lots, but it’s all trivial.”
“Oh no!” she contradicted him.
“Oh yes!” he mimicked her, and laughed, although he did not know why. “My writings are as much like life—” as you are like art, he would have finished, but hesitated.
“As what?” she assisted him.
“As the catching of butterflies is like the catching of rats,” he closed with a return to himself.
“Oh, the Rat-wife!” she interpreted.