“I wonder,” she murmured to herself, “if this is the beginning. “You are the most perfect, the most glorious of created things—tender, frank intellectual, brave, beautiful. For a time she could scarcely believe he was gone. We have only those phantoms called memories, which are the husks of dreams. You do not understand, and you would like to. There is a new life, different from the old life of dependence, possible. The fee is owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.
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