Perhaps, unconsciously, it--bothered me." Passion had burned to helplessness, the appealing helplessness of the weary child.

She sat there, hands loosely clasped in her lap, looking at Katie with great solemn eyes, tired wistful mouth.

And it seemed to Kate that she was looking, not at her, but at life, that life which had cast her out, looking, not with rage now, but with a hurt reproachfulness in which there was a heartbreaking longing.
It drew Katie over to the table.

She stretched her hand out across it, as if seeking to bridge something, and spoke with an earnest dignity.

"You say I'm an outsider.