"Is it possible he could have taken you to Bulgaria without your recollecting anything about it?"
"I must have been very, very young." She sat on the table's edge, staring at the sunny window for a while in silence, then, still gazing into space:
"Jim.... I have sometimes imagined that I could remember something—that I am conscious of having been somewhere else before my first recollections of Wildresse begin. Of course, that is not possible, if he found me, a baby, at his door——"
"He may have lied."
She turned slowly toward him:
"I wonder."
"I wonder, too."
After a silence she said, speaking with a deliberation almost colorless:
"Whether they were dreams, I am not quite certain, now. Always I have supposed them to have been dreams—dreamed long ago.... When I was very, very little.... About a lady with red hair—near me when I was sleepy.... Also there comes a voice as though somebody were singing something about me—my name—Philippa."
"Is that all?"