It’s a tremendous blow, of course—but it doesn’t kill me. She had trembled on the verge of such a resolution before, but this time quite definitely she made it. \" Lucy replied. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. Now I shall never hear it but what this evening will come pouring back over me. Thank goodness you’ll understand. If ever I did meet a man I could love, I should love him”—her voice dropped again—“platonically. ‘No one would credit that you are three years older than I. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all.
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