'For I like everything so tiny that you can find it inside a
shell. That's the way to understand big things and to do them.'
And again the phrase was as familiar to him as though he had said it
himself--heard it, read it, dreamed it, even. Whatever its fairy
source, he knew it. His bewilderment increased absurdly. The things
she said were so ordinary, yet so illuminating, though never quite
betraying their secret source. Where had he heard them? Where had he
met this little foreign visitor? Whence came the singular certainty
that she shared this knowledge with him, and might presently explain
it, all clear as daylight and as simple? He had the odd impression
that she played with him, delayed purposely the moment of revelation,
even expected that _he_ would be the first to make it known. The
disclosure was to come from himself! She provided him with
opportunities--these little sparkling sentences! But he hid in his
corner, silent and magically excited, afraid to take the lead. These
sentences were addressed to him. There was conversation thus between
the two of them; but his replies remained inaudible. Thought makes no
sound; its complete delivery is ever wordless.... He felt very big,
and absurdly shy.
It was gesture, however, that infallible shorthand of the mind, which
seemed the surest medium of this mute delightful intercourse.
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