"No, you never will," he answered. "The sparkle of what others may say is like the phosphorescence down there in the unlighted places. The radiance and glow filling my whole being now is an eternal thing. I can't believe it yet, it will take me a long time to believe it, but, oh, my beautiful one, I wish, I do wish you were a poor girl!"
She lifted her head from his breast, looking at him with glorified eyes. "I should be," she said slowly, "if you did not love me—Philomel."
They kissed, and the moon shone down on the beaten foam of the snowy wake in a long, ineffable silence.
The Riverside Press
CAMBRIDGE · MASSACHUSETTS
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