The question to her was a stupid one.

She had never had interest enough in humanity to care a straw what any shopkeeper ever thought or felt.

Such people inhabited a region so far below her as to be practically out of her sight.

They were not of her kind.

It had never occurred to her that life must look to them much as it looked to her; that, like Shylock, they had feelings, and would bleed if cut with a knife.