It seemed to her that her father was in some inexplicable way meaner-looking than she had supposed, and yet also, as unaccountably, appealing. "I must tell you," she was saying. Perhaps an hour later he would begin again. " "Let me touch you, then; let me feel if you are really flesh and blood," cried the poor maniac, creeping towards him on all fours. But anything is better than this. "I can't tell you!" she replied, blushing deeply, and clinching her little hand as tightly as possible; "it's a secret!" "I'll soon find it out, then," he returned, playfully forcing the paper from her grasp. And if he didn’t, what was the good of seeing him? “I wish he was a woman,” she said, “then I could make him my friend.
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