"I dare say you're surprised that I'm not worn out with all I see--it being so much!--of Sitting Bull.

But I'm not, you know--I don't mind him; I bear up, and we get on beautifully.

I'm very strange; I'm like that; and often I can't explain.

There are people who are supposed interesting or remarkable or whatever, and who bore me to death; and then there are others as to whom nobody can understand what anybody sees in them--in whom I see no end of things." Then after she had smoked a moment, "He's touching, you know," she said.
"'Know' ?" Strether echoed--"don't I, indeed?
We must move you almost to tears." "Oh but I don't mean YOU!" she laughed.
"You ought to then, for the worst sign of all--as I must have it for you--is that you can't help me.

That's when a woman pities." "Ah but I do help you!" she cheerfully insisted.
Again he looked at her hard, and then after a pause: "No you don't!" Her tortoise-shell, on its long chain, rattled down.