Do you know those long low sunsets?
I love them.

They look like blood spilt for love.

The noise of the water, and the moist green smell, gave me hundreds of pictures that seemed to hug me.

I thought--what could stir music in me more than this?
and, am I not just as rich if I stay here with my lover, instead of flying to strange countries, that I shall not care for now?
So, you shall take me as I am.

I do not feel poor any longer." With that she gave him both her hands.
"Yes," said Wilfrid.
As if struck by the ridicule of so feeble a note, falling upon her passionate speech, he followed it up with the "yes!" of a man; adding: "Whatever you are, you are my dear girl; my own love; mine!" Having said it, he was screwed up to feel it as nearly as possible, such virtue is there in uttered words.
Then he set about resolutely studying to appreciate her in the new character she had assumed to him.