His face showed an amazement like the amazement of
a man raving to an image of wood, to whom, abruptly, the wood speaks
with a tongue.
"What do you mean?" he said, and his voice faltered from its note of
triumph and of exultation.
Cuckoo resumed her former position.
"Only was you the will, or the man, or whatever it all is?" she replied
in the voice of one hopelessly muddled.
Valentine was reassured as to her stupidity.
"That has nothing to do with the story," he said.
"There was two of them, was there?" she persisted, but still with the
accent of a hopeless dullard.
"Oh yes. One will must always work upon another, or else there could be
no story worth the telling."
"Oh, I see; that's it."
Valentine again broke into laughter.
"You see, do you?" he said. "You see that, but do you see the truth of
what I told you before about the connection of the will with the body?
Do you see why you have no power now, can never have power again? Do you
understand that the wreck of your body inevitably causes the wreck of
your will, so that it really dies and ceases, because it can no more
influence others? Do you understand that? I'll make you understand it
now. Come here."
He got up from his chair and seized her two hands in his, dragging her
almost violently up from the sofa.
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