He may be able to follow you to London, and visit you at your aunt's." She shook her head, with such a sad, sad doubt of it, that the tears came into my eyes.

I gave her a last kiss--and hurried away.
My route was to Newhaven, and then across the Channel to Dieppe.

I don't think I really knew how fond I had grown of Lucilla, until I lost sight of the rectory at the turn in the road to Brighton.

My natural firmness deserted me; I felt torturing presentiments that some great misfortune would happen in my absence; I astonished myself--I, the widow of the Spartan Pratolungo!--by having a good cry, like any other woman.
Sooner or later, we susceptible people pay with the heartache for the privilege of loving.

No matter: heartache or not, one must have something to love in this world as long as one lives in it.