He knew, too, whatever his fate with her or without her, he must always go on with the battle for the safe-guarding of that manhood the consciousness of which she had aroused.
All he knew was that, through the medium of his love for her, whatever in him of the spiritual remained, or had been generated, was now awake, alive, strong, vital, indestructible--an impalpable current flowing from a sane intelligence, through medium of her, back to the eternal truth, returning always, always, to the deathless source from whence it came.
Lingering over the fruit, the champagne breaking in the glasses standing on the table between them, rim to rim, Leila and Plank had fallen into a low, desultory, yet guarded exchange of words and silences.
Sylvia sprang up and pushed her chair into the farther corner against the balcony rail, where no light fell except the radiance of the stars.
Here Siward joined her, dragging his chair around so that it faced her as she leaned back, tilted against a shadowy column.
"Is this Bohemianism, Stephen?
If it is, I rather like it.

Don't you?
You are going to smoke now, aren't you?
Ah, that is delightful!" daintily sniffing the aroma from his cigarette.

"It always reminds me of you--there on the cliffs, that first day.

Do you remember ?--the smoke from your cigarette whirling up in my face?
...

You say you remember.
...