“Who?”
“Ah, that I can’t say.”
“But what was he like?”
“That I can’t tell you. I don’t really know.”
“But you must know. Did your policeman see him, too?”
“No, I don’t suppose he did. My policeman!” And she went off into a long ripple of laughter. “He is by no means mine. But I must go downstairs and see him.”
“It’s certainly made you very strange.” Marchbanks said. “You’ve got no soul, you know.”
“Oh, thank goodness for that!” she cried. “My policeman has one. I’m sure. My policeman!” And she went off again into a long peal of laughter, the canaries pealing shrill accompaniment.
“What’s the matter with you?” he said.
“Having no soul. I never had one really. It was always fobbed off on me. Soul was the only thing there was between you and me. Thank goodness it’s gone. Haven’t you lost yours? The one that seemed to worry you, like a decayed tooth?”