There's water, of course, and electric light, and there's a telephone.

I loathe the telephone, the destroyer of aloofness, the missionary that breaks into privacy." He switched on the lights in several old lanterns as he spoke.

The day had almost disappeared.
He went over to her and stood smiling.
"Well, isn't this better than a road-house reeking of food and flies and made hideous by a Jazz band ?" "Much better," she said.
The delightful silence was broken by the crickets.
"Martin--Martin," she thought, "and it was all my fault." A sort of tremble ran over Gilbert as he looked at her.

Agony and joy clashed in his heart.

He had suffered, gone sleepless, worn himself out by hard, grim exercise in order, who knew how many times, to master his almost unendurable passion.