“I wonder what you could do?” he said. Gerald did not know who she was, but he knew who she was not. Charley Pevenill was our host. Then Capes shifted his eyes to her microscope and the little trays of unmounted sections beside it. ’ He sat looking her over in silence for a moment or two, his thoughts revolving around the name and the way it fitted so exquisitely on quite another set of features. He went on. The Ragged Edge. The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. The hymnal lyrics had never stirred her; she had memorized and sung them parrotwise. I'd like to be alone now. You might even tire of me by then, you know.
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