"You don't know anything about it," she said.
"No, perhaps I don't," he admitted.
"I can't see that it's your business, at all."
"Well, I suppose it isn't—unless on account of friendship."
"I don't believe in friendship."
"What do you believe in?" he asked.
"I don't believe in anything."
The words came out with violence. She was resisting the impulse to speak out, and yet she was speaking.
"I used to have faith—but now I haven't anything."
"Oh, yes, you have," he said. "You have faith—everything shows it."