“After all,” he said, “I am not sure that you are not a very material person. It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade. She was quite the rage, in a small way, you know. The figure of the girl upon it in plain black dress, standing with her hands behind her, was an undeniable and astonishing likeness of herself. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. But what a monster was this Emile. ‘It could not be helped, whichever way I made my presence known.
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