Every man fell in love with her, and she was really awfully bored.
One could not be in love twice, he said.
Some things were very beautiful; others sheer nonsense. And he was always stopping in the middle, changing his mind; wanting to add something; hearing something new; listening with his hand up.
She had her degree. She was a woman who had made her way in the world. Her knowledge of modern history was more than respectable.
There was something solemn in it—but love and religion would destroy that, whatever it was, the privacy of the soul.
He had not said "I love you"; but he held her hand.
The time comes when it can't be said; one's too shy to say it, he thought, pocketing his sixpence or two of change, setting off with his great bunch held against his body to Westminster to say straight out in so many words (whatever she might think of him), holding out his flowers, "I love you."
Health we must have; and health is proportion
His wife was crying, and he felt nothing; only each time she sobbed in this profound, this silent, this hopeless way, he descended another step into the pit.
