I was living my own love-story too keenly to be put off with imaginary ones.

Music held me for a little while; but through it I was listening--listening for his coming, or for the telegram that should announce the arrival of his boat at Southampton.

I used to look across at the lighted table by the fire where my grandparents played cribbage night after night, and wonder at the quiet old faces.

Would Anthony and I come to be like that?
So interested in the chance of a card, so content to sit quietly in a chimney-corner?
I could not believe it of Anthony.

He would be always like a sword, like a flame.
I went and came now to Brosna as one who had a right.