'Ah, I can't believe you there,' he said.

'And at all events, whatever there is to know, I'm its friend.

You don't know yourself, you see.

You only know what you feel, not at all what you are.' 'Isn't that what I am ?' She looked away, disquieted by this analysis of her own personality.
'By no means all,' said Franklin.

'You've hardly looked at the you that can do things--the you that can think things.' She didn't want to look at them, poor, inert, imprisoned creatures.