Oh, Beatrice, I will tell you what I have never told to any one.

I am lonely and wretched.
With the exception of yourself, I do not think that there is anybody who really cares for--I mean who really sympathises with me in the world.
I daresay that it is my own fault and it sounds a humiliating thing to say, and, in a fashion, a selfish thing.

I never should have said it to any living soul but you.

What is the use of being great when there is nobody to work for?
Things might have been different, but the world is a hard place.

If you--if you----" At this moment his hand touched hers; it was accidental, but in the tenderness of his heart he yielded to the temptation and took it.