But one may not linger all one's days in the pleasant places.

One sleeps through the nights and is rested, but the days--ah, they are different." "I cannot reason with you," he said.

"You are too vague.

Yet--you say that you have been contented here." "I have been happy," she murmured.
"Then you must speak more plainly," he insisted, a note of passion throbbing in his hoarse tones.

"I ask you again--why do you talk of going back, like a city slave whose days of holiday are over?
What is there in the world more beautiful than the gifts the gods shower on us here?
We have the sun, and the sea, and the wind by day and by night--this! It is the flower garden of life.