It is because I don't want to hear your voice again, to have it haunt me in the loneliness you will leave--but it's useless, useless! I shall hear it always, just as I shall always see your face, just as I have heard your voice and seen your face these seven years--ever since I first saw you, a child at Winter Harbor.

I forgot for a while; I thought it was a girl I had made up out of my own heart, but it was you--you always! The impression I thought nothing of at the time, just the merest touch on my heart, light as it was, grew and grew deeper until it was there forever.

You've known me twenty-four hours, and I understand what you think of me for speaking to you like this.

If I had known you for years and had waited and had the right to speak and keep your respect, what have I to offer you?
I, couldn't even take care of you if you went mad as I and listened.

I've no excuse for this raving.