All the while the greater questions were beating and curling and building themselves back in her brain, and above all she was wondering why no one had told her before of all this mighty world. Mrs. ¬ÝVanderpool, to whom it seemed too familiar for comment, had said no word; or, if she had spoken, Zora‚Äôs ears had not been tuned to understand; and as they flew toward the towering ramparts of New York, she sat up big with the terror of a new thought: suppose this world were full yet of things she did not know nor dream of? How could she find out? She must know.
When finally they were settled in New York and sat high up on the Fifth Avenue front of the hotel, gradually the inarticulate questioning found words, albeit strange ones.
“It reminds me of the swamp,” she said.
Mrs. ¬ÝVanderpool, just returned from a shopping tour, burst into laughter.
‚ÄúIt is‚ÅÝ‚Äîbut I marvel at your penetration.‚Äù
‚ÄúI mean, it is moving‚ÅÝ‚Äîalways moving.‚Äù
“The swamp seemed to me unearthly still.”
‚ÄúYes‚ÅÝ‚Äîyes,‚Äù cried Zora, eagerly, brushing back the rumpled hair; ‚Äúand so did the city, at first, to me.‚Äù
“Still! New York?”
“Yes. You see, I saw the buildings and forgot the men; and the buildings were so tall and silent against Heaven. And then I came to see the people, and suddenly I knew the city was like the swamp, always restless and changing.”