“I don’t know. ” He walked from his door frame to stand nearer to her. On the one hand, she seemed to think plainly and simply, and would talk serenely and freely about topics that most women have been trained either to avoid or conceal; and on the other she was unconscious, or else she had an air of being unconscious—that was the riddle—to all sorts of personal applications that almost any girl or woman, one might have thought, would have made. His next occupation was to take out his pistols, examine the priming, and rub the flints. And yet to Spurlock it was only the title of a story he would some day write.
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