She drew up her knees, clasped her hands over them, bent forward. She was a quaint little thing; he had never known anyone like her. She spoke slowly, with difficulty; the words she had at her command couldn’t adequately express her thoughts.
“Life is a gift, not a habit. Every day we do the same things, but they must bring us something new in the doing. I’ve often thought, in the quiet of the sick room, what a privilege it is that I could sit there and help, when all the millions and billions of spirits are crowding the universe, and can’t get into life; I’m so glad I am put into a body—so happy, so thankful.”
“I have never thought it a privilege to live, never thought of life as a gift.”
“We depend too much on people and things to make us happy; we shouldn’t! Our happiness depends on no one but ourselves.”
He knew what she meant. Julie had colored his life for a time; now it was grey.
“I’ve never thought of it that way.”
She came nearer with a touch of eagerness.
“You will, won’t you?”
He answered simply:
“Yes, I will—”