It's the place where the spirits of colour and the
spirits of flowers live--the spirit of music, too--and all sorts of
beautiful strange things which people who've never been blind can't
see--or even hear. They're not '_things_,' exactly. They're more like
the reality behind the things: God's thoughts of things as they should
be, before He created them; artists' thoughts of their pictures;
musicians' thoughts of their compositions--all better than the things
resulting from the thoughts. Nothing in the outside world is as
wonderful as what grows in that garden! I couldn't go on being unhappy
there. Nobody could--once he'd found the way in."
"It must be hard finding the way in!" Dierdre said.
"It is at first--alone, without help. That's why, if I can, I want to
help my fellow blind men to get there."
"Only men? Not women, too?"
"I've never met a blind woman. Probably I never shall."
"You're talking to one this minute! When I'm with you, I always feel as
if I were blind, and you could see."
"You're unjust to yourself."
"No, but I'm unjust to you--I mean, I have been. I must tell you before
we go on, because you're too kind, too generous. I'm blind about lots of
things, but I do see that, now. I see how good you are. I used to think
you were too good to be true--that you must be a _poseur_. I was always
waiting for the time when you'd give yourself away--when you'd show
yourself on the same level with my brother and me.
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