A Man Is So In

There Was A Filmy Veil Of Soft Dull Mist Obscuring, But Not Hiding, All Objects, Giving Them A Lilac Hue, For The Sun Had Not Yet Fully Set; A Robin Was Singing ... The Leaves Were More Gorgeous Than Ever; The First Touch Of Frost Would Lay Them All Low To The Ground. Already One Or Two Kept Constantly Floating Down, Amber And Golden In The Low Slanting Sun-rays.

Even Before He Left The Room, — And Certainly, Not Five Minutes After, The Clear Conviction Dawned Upon Her, Shined Bright Upon Her, That He Did Love Her; That He Had Loved Her; That He Would Love Her. And She Shrank And Shuddered As Under The Fascination Of Some Great Power.

Trust A Girl Of Sixteen For Knowing Well If She Is Pretty; Concerning Her Plainness She May Be Ignorant.

My Heart Burnt Within Me With Indignation And Grief; We Could Think Of Nothing Else. All Night Long We Had Only Snatches Of Sleep, Waking Up Perpetually To The Sense Of A Great Shock And Grief. Every One Is Feeling The Same. I Never Knew So Universal A Feeling.

On Some Such Night As This She Remembered Promising To Herself To Live As Brave And Noble A Life As Any Heroine She Ever Read Or Heard Of In Romance, A Life Sans Peur Et Sans Reproche; It Had Seemed To Her Then That She Had Only To Will, And Such A Life Would Be Accomplished. And Now She Had Learnt That Not Only To Will, But Also To Pray, Was A Necessary Condition In The Truly Heroic. Trusting To Herself, She Had Fallen.