They ate lobster together one day, and he, in some mood, kept misquoting and distorting passages from the Persian poet, and thenceforth broiled lobster was known to the two as "a Rubaiyat." And there were a score or two of other bizarre titles they had made for things or for localities, with the instinct of so embalming a perfect recollection.

And each had certain tricks of speech, of course, as have all human beings, and these two, so living in each other, caught all these, and mocked and gibed and imitated, until there was little difference in their pronunciations.

To some one overhearing them they might have been deemed as of unsound mind, though they were only talking in love's volapuk.
They resembled each other, these two beings, as nearly in bodily fancies as in other ways.

Each, for instance, was a great water lover, each addicted to the bath and perfumes, he perhaps because of his long gymnasium training, and she from the instinct of all purity which appertains to all women worth the owning.
One afternoon they had fled from the city and were walking on the beach, beside the lake, with no one near them.

For a mile in either direction, they could look up and down and see that no intruder was in sight.