She studied it till the conventional phrases took a fiery hue, and came at her with an invasive rush.
The letter was cast back into the box, locked up; there an end to it, or no interdiction of sleep.
Sleep was a triumph.

Aminta's healthy frame rode her over petty agitations of a blood uninflamed, as lightly as she swam the troubled sea-waters her body gloried to cleave.

She woke in the morning peaceful and mildly reflective, like one who walks across green meadows.

Only by degrees, by glimpses, was she drawn to remember the trotting, cantering, galloping, leaping of an active heart during night.

We cannot, men or woman, control the heart in sleep at night.