"
At first the words made no impression on him. He replied:
"You were right when you said this place was an illusion. It is."
And then he began to be afraid. Did she mean it? She was capable of
anything. And he was involved in her, inescapably. Yes, he was afraid.
Nevertheless, as she kept silence he went on--with bravado:
"And how do you intend to do it?"
"That will be my affair. But I venture to say that my way of doing it
will make Wrikton historic," she said, curiously gentle.
"Trust you!" he exclaimed, suddenly looking at her. "Con, why _will_
you always be so theatrical?"
She changed her posture for an easier one, half reclining. Her face
and demeanour seemed to have the benign masculinity of a man's.
"I'm sorry," she answered. "I oughtn't to have said that. At any rate,
to you. I ought to have had more respect for your feelings."
He said:
"You aren't cured. That's evident. All this is physical."
"Of course it's physical, G.J.," she agreed, with an intonation of
astonishment that he should be guilty of an utterance so obvious and
banal. "Did you ever know anything that wasn't? Did you ever even
conceive anything that wasn't? If you can show me how to conceive
spirit except in terms of matter, I'd like to listen to you.
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