“Yes.”
“I know you’ve been in India. Miss Claes—are you really farther along than I thought? Are you trying for that impersonal thing—trying to belong to everybody—to enter the stream of humanity, as they call it?”
“Of course, I’m trying, Pidge.”
“You and Nagar working together?”
“Yes, but you and I are working together, too.”
Pidge was not to be turned aside by generalities.
“You—down here in lower New York—keeping a rooming house?”
“Why not?”
“Nothing—only it’s so big, so unexpected. I’ve always believed ’way down deep that a real person wouldn’t be long-haired or barefooted or pious, but lost in the crowd something like that—quietly efficient, moving here and there among people unannounced, only a few ever dreaming! Oh, it’s too, too big!”
“Don’t try to believe anything, Pidge.”