I said good-bye to him, and I really think he cared, but I was too happy to be very sorry.

When I reached my room there was a packet for me and, Man, like David of old, you are a wonderful poet! Oh Harvester! why didn't you send them to me instead of the cold, hard things you wrote ?" "What do you mean, Ruth ?" "Those letters! Those wonderful outpourings of love and passion and poetry and song and broken-heartedness.

Oh Man, how could you write such things and throw them in the fire?
Granny Moreland found them when she came to bring you a pie, and she carried them to Doctor Carey, and he sent them to me, and, David, they finished me.

Everything came in a heap.

I would have come without them, but never, never with quite the understanding, for as I read them the deeps opened up, and the flood broke, and there did a warm tide go through all my being, like you said it would; and now, David, I know what you mean by love.