"My inspiration, and the fountain head thereof. My river is all dried up. But I never was a river; I only thought I was."
"I don't know what you're talking about." This was the remark which had punctuated their childhood, and Theresa laughed, swinging forward to clasp her knees.
"Of course you don't! I'm talking of the nonexistent. Alas, alas, and I thought myself a torrent that could never be dammed! Grace, Grace, do you think there's any chance of my becoming a torrent some day?"
"I think," she pirouetted, "you could be almost anything you like, if—oh, look! wasn't that rather pretty?—if you cared enough."
"That's just it," said Theresa gloomily. "I only care about myself, and I am that already. At least, I suppose I am. I'm not sure. Grace, have you got a self you're sure of?"
"Yes."
"Just one whole, compact little bundle of self?"
"Yes, I think so."
"Oh, how did you do it? There are parts of me in every star and in every earthworm, and I don't know which is which or where! What magnet will draw them all together?"
"Ah!" said Grace.