"I think, Ted, that that is always the way one finds them—love, and life, and death are very near together—everywhere just as we have read of them in Mallory."
She went to the window and looked out.
"The snow is getting deep, Ted—you wouldn't know Myrtle Boulevard."
"Yes, I should," I answered. "It is the way leading down to Camelot."
She smiled, and the snow-light shone on her face, making her beauty luminous.
"It's Thanksgiving Day, Ted—did you know it?"
"Then I've been here—"
"Ten days." She came back to my side.
"Thanksgiving," I heard her murmur to herself—"dear God! I'm thankful."
"And you have nursed me all this time?"