He went on down the road as if he were not living inside himself, but somewhere outside.

“Who was that person?” his sister Effie asked.

“I couldn't tell you,” he answered unknowing.

“She's somebody very funny,” said Effie, almost in condemnation. “That child's like one bewitched.”

“Bewitched — how bewitched?” he repeated.

“You can see for yourself. The mother's plain, I must say — but the child is like a changeling. She'd be about thirty-five.”

But he took no notice. His sister talked on.

“There's your woman for you,” she continued.