She shook down her hair, and it fell about her in a brown cloud, hiding her face and shoulders.
Dear, damp brown hair! I wanted to kiss it, to ripple it through my fingers, to bury my face in it.

I gazed entranced, till the boat ran into the wind and the flapping sail warned me I was not attending to my duties.

Idealist and romanticist that I was and always had been in spite of my analytical nature, yet I had failed till now in grasping much of the physical characteristics of love.

The love of man and woman, I had always held, was a sublimated something related to spirit, a spiritual bond that linked and drew their souls together.

The bonds of the flesh had little part in my cosmos of love.