That is right, Stephen.

Remorse grows maudlin when it goes into words," laughing again at his astounded look.
He took her hand,--a dewy, healthy hand,--the very touch of it meant action and life.
"What if I say, then," he said, earnestly, "that I do not find my angel perfect, be the fault mine or hers?
The child Margret, with her sudden tears, and laughter, and angry heats, is gone,--I killed her, I think,--gone long ago.

I will not take in place of her this worn, pale ghost, who wears clothes as chilly as if she came from the dead, and stands alone, as ghosts do." She stood a little way off, her great brown eyes flashing with tears.
It was so strange a joy to find herself cared for, when she had believed she was old and hard: the very idle jesting made her youth and happiness real to her.

Holmes saw that with his quick tact.

He flung playfully a crimson shawl that lay there about her white neck.
"My wife must suffer her life to flush out in gleams of colour and light: her cheeks must hint at a glow within, as yours do now.