I suppose that's glamour--a goldeny, misty, lovely feeling, as if my soul were wandering about with his--not in my body at all.

I want it to go on and on wandering--oh! I don't want it back in my body, all hard and inquisitive and aching! I shall never know anything so lovely as loving him and being loved.

I don't want anything more--nothing! Stay with me, please--Happiness! Don't go away and leave me!...

They frighten me, though; he frightens me--their idealism; wanting to do great things, and fight for justice.

If only I'd been brought up more like that--but everything's been so different.