days you'll see again."

She smiled. "I'd just love to see _you_. You must be wonderful!"

"What makes you think that?" he asked, his warped face glowing.

"You're so strong and young, such thick hair, such finely shaped hands
and such a voice." Sylvie's associates had been of a profession that
deals perpetually in personalities. "If I'd been blind a long time,
I suppose I could just run my hand over your face, and I'd know what
you look like. But I can't tell a thing." She felt for his face and
brushed it eagerly with her fingers, laughing at herself. "I just
know that you have thick eyelashes and are clean-shaven. Is Bella
your wife? And that big little boy your son?"

He started. "No, she's a faithful thing, the boy's nurse. And the
kid's my young brother--a great gawk of a boy for his age, a regular
bean-pole."

"It's so hard to tell anything about people if you can't see them.
I wouldn't have thought he was so big. Is he about fourteen or
fifteen? He speaks so low and gently; he might be any age."

"And a man's height--pretty near too big to lick, though he needs
it."

"And Bella, what's she like?"

"A dried-up mummy of a woman."