The very sunlight looks desolation, falling through the thick-blossoming apple-trees as through the chinks and crevices of deserted Egyptian cities.
While as for the books--well, never talk to me again about the companionship of books! For just when one needs them most of all they seem suddenly to have grown dull and unsympathetic, not a word of comfort, not a charm anywhere in them to make us forget the slow-moving hours; whereas, when Margaret was here--but it is of no use to say any more! Everything was quite different when Margaret was here: that is enough.

Margaret has gone away to the Fortunate Isles.

Of course she'll come to see us now and again; but it won't be the same thing.
Yes! old echoing silent House of Joy that is Gone, we are quite alone.
Now, what is to be done?
.