"You are English? You must be--speaking English so perfectly."
She did not answer immediately, but looked at Deronda again, straining to see him in the double light. Until now she had been watching the oar. It seemed as if she were half roused, and wondered which part of her impression was dreaming and which waking. Sorrowful isolation had benumbed her sense of reality, and the power of distinguishing outward and inward was continually slipping away from her. Her look was full of wondering timidity such as the forsaken one in the desert might have lifted to the angelic vision before she knew whether his message was in anger or in pity.
"You want to know if I am English?" she said at last, while Deronda was reddening nervously under a gaze which he felt more fully than he saw.

"You are English? You speak English perfectly."
She did not answer immediately, but looked at Deronda again, with wondering timidity, as if she were unsure whether she was dreaming or awake.
"You want to know if I am English?" she said at last.
