She tried to think what she should do in this eventuality or that. She held out both her hands. Entranced, he stared at the name. . She so wanted to keep her memory of him fresh, so wanted to memorize his kisses and to conjure his embrace someday when he was mere dust in the ground. Perhaps the day of her recompense was at hand. Pardon! I wish to say, for your granddaughter, we seek succour. “Good-bye, John,” she said simply. He could not understand how men could live ignoring this one predominant interest, this wonderful research into personality and the possibilities of pleasing, these complex, fascinating expeditions that began in interest and mounted to the supremest, most passionate intimacy. Remember, in your story—look at it, scattered everywhere!—that line? We arrive at true happiness only through labyrinths of misery. .
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