“That is a bitter thing for a verse to show,” I made answer, “and a bitter thing to have in my mind.”
“Well, and aren’t you wise enough to prefer the bitter things to the sweet things?” said my friend Annabel Lee. “For every sweet thing that you have in your mind, it is yours to pay a mighty bitter price. Whereas the bitter things are valuable possessions. And if it is true about your friends, of course you wish to know it.”
“No,” said I, “I don’t wish to know it.”
“But, at least,” said my friend Annabel Lee, with a wonderful softening of her voice into something that was sincere and enchanting, “believe what I told you about it, for in that case you and I have that good gift—a bond of sympathy. For if I had friends, of that kind, they would look upon me as something with much to acquire, very sure. But don’t,” said my friend Annabel Lee, hastily, “consider the bond of sympathy a sweet thing—remember the mighty bitter price.”
“I will believe what you said about the friends,” said I—“and it is bitter enough to purge my soul for a time. The bond of sympathy is not a sweet thing, anyway. I don’t expect to have to pay for it— And it brings a feeling of restfulness.—”
“A bond of sympathy,” said my friend Annabel Lee, “comes already paid for. It does very well. It is not sweet—it tastes more like a cigarette or an olive.
“About the verse”—said my friend Annabel Lee.
“Please let’s not talk about that any more,” said I.
“Whatever you like,” said my friend Annabel Lee.
And we talked of George Sand and her books.