"I know what she knows—I was born knowing. But if I were married, if I had children, I should know nothing, nothing any more."
Frances was silent.
"They—they'd press up so close to me that I should see nothing—not even them."
"Don't you want them to press?"
"It doesn't matter what I want. It's what I see. And they wouldn't let me see."
"They'd make you feel," said Frances.
"Feel? I should think they would. I should feel them, I should feel for them, I should feel nothing else besides."
"But," persisted Frances, "you would feel."
"Do you think I don't?" said Jane.
"Well, there are some things—I don't see how you can—without experience."