"Have you never found time to fall in love; or have you been too busy saying 'no?' Molly, you were born a candle, and men will come from all the corners, like the bush insects, to scorch in your flame. Where did you steal your hands? A sculptor would break his chisel despairing of them. What Paradise gave you them that the bush might stare them into decay? Molly, Molly, you must have a soul, or what sits in your eyes all day making men drunken?"
"Mr. Power, you're a poor fisherman."
"Have you never loved, Molly?"
"Maybe yes, and maybe no, and it's not you, Mr. Power, I'm starting blabbing to."
"Tell me."
"Aw, you'd laugh."
"No."
"Straight wire?"
"Straight wire."
"There's nothing to tell. Some's been round that I've laughed at and sent away, nor thought nor cared what came of them. And one or two I've liked a little. And one or two has made me cry. But when one fellow goes, there's another to come after him."