"Why, no. I never try
to find out people's name. Why should I? I don't claim anything for
the power; I only know I have it--and some ways it ain't always such a
blessing, neither, I can tell you!"
Eugene did not press an investigation of her meaning, but said
vaguely, "I suppose not. Shall we--"
"All right," she assented, dropping into the leather chair, with her
back to the shaded window. "You better set down, too, I reckon. I
hope you'll get something this time so you won't feel cross, but I
dunno. I can't never tell what they'll do. Well--"
She sighed, closed her eyes, and was silent, while Eugene, seated in
the stiff chair across the table from her, watched her profile,
thought himself an idiot, and called himself that and other names.
And as the silence continued, and the impassive woman in the easy-
chair remained impassive, he began to wonder what had led him to be
such a fool. It became clear to him that the similarity of his letter
and Lucy's needed no explanation involving telepathy, and was not even
an extraordinary coincidence.
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