There _is_ luxury in letting go of that live wire which keeps us all keyed to one conventional monotone in the North.
I let go--for a moment--to-night.

_You_ let go when you said 'Calypso.' You couldn't have said it in New York; I couldn't have heard you, there....

Alas, Ulysses, I should not have heard you anywhere.

But I did; and I answered....

Say good night to me, now; won't you?
We have not been very wicked, I think." She offered her hand; smooth and cool it lay for a second in his.
"I can't let you return alone," he ventured.
"If you please, how am I to explain you to--the others ?" And as he said nothing: "If I were--different--I'd simply tell them the truth.