That suggested delicacy; and yet her young body was strong and vital. She untucked his starched shirt, running her hands along his smooth torso and underneath his arms. "What! you still hesitate! Will that rouse you, coward?" And she gave him a smart rap on the head. With what airs we human atoms invest ourselves! What ridiculous fancies of our importance! We believe we have destinies, when we have only destinations: that we are something immortal, when each of us is in truth only the repository of a dream. “It is like old times,” she said, “to hear these home truths. ’ ‘What?’ ‘Neat little toy. It isn’t sentiment but it’s horse sense. I almost died from this flu. Then as she lay very still, with her hands clinched and her black hair tumbled about her face, he came still closer and softly kissed the nape of her neck. But he had always felt (he had never allowed himself to think of it) that the promptitude of their family was a little indelicate of her, and in a sense an intrusion. Annabel was conscious then of the slow anger which had been burning within her since the night of her visit to the “Unusual. ” “Then you will really give it all up!” he exclaimed.
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