I knew that I had turned my world back to cinders, sunk my lovely ship with my own stupid, wicked hands.
The street lamps glowed like ripe oranges among the bare boughs. Below in the wet street their globes glimmered down and down, to drown in their own reflections.
Yes," I answered you last night;"No," this morning, sir, I say.Colours seen by candlelightWill not look the same by day.
The car whispered up the slope and nosed quietly out above the trees. He was driving like a careful insult.
Kissing me with a violence that was terrifying and yet, somehow, the summit of all my tenderest dreams.
I remember thinking with a queer detached portion of my mind that here was someone wringing her hands. One reads about it and one never sees it, and now here it was.