You are you; I am I; formally, millions of miles apart--temporarily and informally close together, paralleling each other's course through life for the span of half an hour--here under the Southern stars....

O Ulysses, truly that island was inhabited by one, Calypso; but your thrall is to be briefer than your prototype's.

See, now; here is the road; and I release you to that not impossible she--" "There is none--" "There will be.

You are very young.

Good-bye." "The confusing part of it to me," he said, smiling, "is to _see_ you so--so physically youthful with even a hint of almost childish immaturity!--and then to _hear_ you as you _are_--witty, experienced, nicely cynical, maturely sure of yourself and--" "You think me experienced ?" "Yes." "Sure of myself ?" "Of course; with your cool, amused poise, your absolute self-possession--and the half-disdainful sword-play of your wit--at my expense--" She halted beside the sea-wall, adorably mocking in her exaggerated gravity.
"At your expense ?" she repeated.