I live apart from the world, and I dare not take you to my home.

There is no way.

The artist has no home life, no heart life.

The world claims us; all our youth, beauty, talent, even our last energies are given up to the insatiate public.
"You must call me back when you look at our Danube picture, and, when the ban is lifted, if I succeed, you will hear of me.

If I fail," she brokenly murmured, "then, forget me--think of me as only one who, a stranger in a strange land, has shared Life's cup with you, in a gleam of passing sunshine." There were bright tears trembling upon her down-dropped lashes.
"And I shall have nothing of you! Not even a picture," hoarsely murmured Clayton.