For some moments neither of us spoke. "Something," she said, and then, "Some vague report," and left these fragments to be her reply.
"We were old playmates; we were children together. We have—something—that draws us to each other. She—she made a mistake in marrying. We were both very young and the situation was difficult. And then afterwards we were thrown together.... But you see that has made a great difference to my life; it's turned me off the rails on which men of my sort usually run. I've had to look to these other things.... They've become more to me than to most people if only because of that...."
"You mean these ideas of yours—learning as much as you can about the world, and then doing what you can to help other people to a better understanding."
"Yes," I said.
"And that—will fill your life."
"It ought to."
"I suppose it ought. I suppose—you find—it does."
"Don't you think it ought to fill my life?"
"I wondered if it did."
"But why shouldn't it?"