Lord Charvill champed upon an invisible bit for a moment or two, closing the gap between himself and the girl, and muttering the name to himself in an overwrought sort of way. She tossed her head, and, having no further words, moved toward the door. Advancing towards him, he made him a formal salutation, which was coldly returned. I thought that Hill was dead, but I was frightened, and I wanted to get away from Paris. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. She wanted to think of him as her beloved person, to be near him and watch him, to have him going about, doing this and that, saying this and that, unconscious of her, while she too remained unconscious of herself. . “No! I want to do without that. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. You were very good.
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