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And then at last, in the fulness of time—a very few years—ah, then——
"Once more shall Neuha lead her Torquil by the hand."
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"Oh, Mary!" I cried, "shall we be transcendently happy again? As happy as we were—happier even?"
Ah, Gogo, is a man happier than a mouse, or a mouse than a turnip, or a turnip than a lump of chalk? But what man would be a mouse or a turnip, or vice versâ? What turnip would be a lump—of anything but itself? Are two people happier than one? You and I, yes; because we are one; but who else? It is one and all. Happiness is like time and space—we make and measure it ourselves; it is a fancy—as big, as little, as you please; just a thing of contrasts and comparisons, like health or strength or beauty or any other good—that wouldn't even be noticed but for sad personal experience of its opposite!—or its greater!
"I have forgotten all I know but this, which is for you and me: we are inseparable forever. Be sure we shall not want to go back again for a moment."
"And is there no punishment or reward?"
Oh, there again! What a detail! Poor little naughty perverse midges—who were born so—and can't keep straight! poor little exemplary midges who couldn't go wrong if they tried! Is it worth while? Isn't it enough for either punishment or reward that the secrets of all midges' hearts shall be revealed, and for all other midges to see? Think of it!
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