"Let us try to be sensible.

We haven't decided yet what we're going to do." "I'm going home," said Ambrose, "to work like a galley-slave." "It is so far," she murmured.
"I'll find some way of letting you hear from me.

Twice before the winter sets in I'll send a messenger.

And you, you keep a little book and write in it whenever you think of me, and send it back by my messenger." "A little book won't hold it all," she said naively.
"Meanwhile I'll be making a place for you.

I couldn't take you to Moultrie." She asked why.
"Eva, Peter's wife," he explained.