He raised his head and looked at the flowers through his tears. They had never been so beautiful. “They make me think of you,” he told her.
“Do they?” Mrs. Baldwin still leaned her head against her hand, still looked out over the meadows. “But there are so many of them,” she said. “So many. That is what I feel first of all about them. I could not think of them as like one person. Multitudes. Multitudes.—And so silent! They make me think always of the souls of the happy dead.”
The Riverside Press
CAMBRIDGE. MASSACHUSETTS
U. S. A.
| Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber: |
| embody the spendour=> embody the splendour {pg 105} |
| in spite of Florre’s good cheer=> in spite of Florrie’s good cheer {pg 136} |
