You see we want always the same thing," he had gone on--"and that holds us, that binds us, together.

We want each other," he had further explained; "only wanting it, each time, FOR each other.

That's what I call the happy spell; but it's also, a little, possibly, the immorality." "'The immorality' ?" she had pleasantly echoed.
"Well, we're tremendously moral for ourselves--that is for each other; and I won't pretend that I know exactly at whose particular personal expense you and I, for instance, are happy.

What it comes to, I daresay, is that there's something haunting--as if it were a bit uncanny--in such a consciousness of our general comfort and privilege.

Unless indeed," he had rambled on, "it's only I to whom, fantastically, it says so much.