Enid’s voice came, singularly flat and dispirited.
“No,” she said. And after a pause. “I dare say I was looking for God.... What an empty looking heaven, isn’t it?”
“On the contrary. I hear it’s extraordinarily crowded with planets and constellations and that sort of thing. And probably ghosts.”
“Do you believe in ghosts—really?”
“No, my dear; I have no fears.”
“Fears!” cried Enid. “Fears!... I wouldn’t call it a fear. I’d call it a hope.... Oh! Don’t I wish I could see a ghost! I’m—I’m always looking for something like that. Something to show that we don’t end.”
“Aha! You’re afraid of death, are you?”
“No!” she said, impatiently. “Don’t you understand? I don’t care when or how I go. I don’t care whether I become an angel or a devil, or a puff of breath in a great god’s mouth. Or a ghost. So long as it doesn’t end.”
“It does end,” said Lawrence. “Rest assured of that.”
“Don’t you care?”