She had roses in her hands, or rather they were lying across her white arms, and her exquisite face rose above them, thrilling his heart with a strange but powerful sense of a right in her that was wholly satisfying and indisputable.
"I will suffer no one to part me from Lucy," he mused.

"She is mine.

She belongs to me, and to no other man in this world.

I will not leave her.
I might lose her; if I go away, she must go with me.

She loves me! I know it! I feel it! When she sat at my side as we were driving together she _was me_.