Recurrently she heard: "I don't know; I really don't know." It was curiously like the intermittent murmur of the surf, those weird Sundays, when her father paused for breath to launch additional damnation for those who disobeyed the Word.

"I don't know; I really don't know." Her ear caught much of the lesson, and many things she stored away; but often what she heard was sound without sense.

Still, her face never betrayed this distraction.

And what was singular she did not recount to the doctor that morning's adventure.

Why?
If she had put the query to herself, she could not have answered it.