I wondered, afterward, what it really was. He seemed to impress me like a powerful motor car stalled in a muddy road.
Jean
Ah. I know!
Vera
Poor child.
Jean
No. You don't understand, I was unhappy, in the ordinary sense, unbelievably so. But that wasn't all. I was alive! I lived as the man lives who faints in the dark mine underground, and I lived as the aviator lives, thrilling against the sun, and as the believer in a world of infidels. That was what he did for me. And slowly, as I learned how deeply the very pain was making me live, I put my unhappiness by. It was there, but it no longer seemed important. It was the lingering complaint of my old commonplace soul standing fearfully on the brink of greater things and hating the situation that led it there.
Vera
You are a big woman, Jean.
Jean