He whispered again. "Must we wait all those years?"
She lifted her face, understanding him suddenly.
"Quentin, you and I must do nothing to—degrade our love."
"But it's degraded already—it's thwarted, and all thwarted things are degraded. If we fling aside our fears and triumph over circumstances, then it will be exalted, not degraded."
She did not speak.
"Janey," he continued, his voice muffled in her hands, which he held against his mouth. "You and I have been locked out of Paradise—but we can climb over the gates."
She was still silent. Quentin had never spoken to her so openly before—after earlier disappointments he had sometimes hinted what he now expressed; but his love had never made her tremble; violent as it was, it was reverent.
"Janey ... will you climb over the gates of Paradise with me?"
"No, dear."