What right had she to call herself “Alcide”? It was abominable, an imposture. Wood's boat, impelled alike by oar and tide, shot past the mark at which it aimed; and before it could be again brought about, the struggle had terminated. She had never said anything so horrible to anyone in her life. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. Roof open —like a Noah’s Ark. ” She stirred gently in her chair. “Why can’t you tell people that you are what you are? Why all the secrecy?” She looked beyond the farmhouse. She hadn't meant to ask anything for herself. It was plain that a man of his age could only be interested for one reason alone, yet she felt compelled to at know him a little before the main event.
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