“Mine mostly. You don’t think he was able to read yours, do you?”
“I don’t know. He is very clever. He might be able to read mine better than I can myself.”
“Can’t you always read your own, then, Aryenis?”
“Not always as well as I should like to. They get rather mixed up sometimes.”
“What a confession to make! I always imagine them as sort of things like—like the mirror Forsyth gave you—very clear and sharp.”
“That shows, Harilek, that you are still far from being grown up, or you would know that sometimes a woman’s thoughts are the most tangled things in the world, and most tangled of all to their owner.”
“Are they twisted up just now, then?”
“I’m not quite sure. Sometimes I think they are quite straightforward, and then, just as everything seems perfectly clear, I come up against the most awful bundle of knots you ever saw in your life.”
“You want a magician like Paulos to untwist them for you.”
“Yes, that would be very nice—if he could. But I think Paulos is not the kind of magician that would unravel knots like these.”