“I’m so happy that I’m frightened. Wouldn’t it be awful if this was—was the high point?...”
She looked at him dreamily.
“Beauty and love pass, I know.... Oh, there’s sadness, too. I suppose all great happiness is a little sad. Beauty means the scent of roses and then the death of roses—”
“Beauty means the agony of sacrifice and the end of agony....”
“And, Amory, we’re beautiful, I know. I’m sure God loves us—”
“He loves you. You’re his most precious possession.”
“I’m not his, I’m yours. Amory, I belong to you. For the first time I regret all the other kisses; now I know how much a kiss can mean.”
Then they would smoke and he would tell her about his day at the office—and where they might live. Sometimes, when he was particularly loquacious, she went to sleep in his arms, but he loved that Rosalind—all Rosalinds—as he had never in the world loved any one else. Intangibly fleeting, unrememberable hours.
AQUATIC INCIDENT