“I was sure of it! I knew something would come to tie it all up together into one bundle! That's it! That's it! The love of everything is the garden-bed out of which grow the roses of prayer!—But what am I saying!” she added, checking herself; “I love everything, at least everything that comes near me, and I never pray!”
“Of course not! Why should you?” said Richard.
“Why should I not?”
“You would if it were reasonable!”
“I will, then! To love all the creatures and not have a word to say to the God that made them for loving them before-hand—is that reasonable?”
“No, if a God did make them.”
“They could not make themselves!”
“No; nothing could make itself.”
“Then somebody must have made them!”
“Who?”