upright, leaning against the back. She turned to me.
"You would like her for your granddaughter, perhaps? Alas! She is not for sale. She has lessons to learn
before she goes again from me."
Her voice changed, lost its diabolic sweetness, became charged with menace.
"Now listen to me-Dr. Lowell! What-you did not think I knew you? I knew you from the first. You too
need a lesson!" Her eyes blazed upon me. "You shall have your lesson-you fool! You who pretend to
heal the mind-and know nothing, nothing I say, of what the mind is. You, who conceive the mind as but
a part of a machine of flesh and blood, nerve and bone and know nothing of what it houses. You-who
admit existence of nothing unless you can measure it in your test tubes or see it under your microscope.
You-who define life as a chemical ferment, and consciousness as the product of cells. You fool! Yet you