The walls rocked, the footrail of the bed wavered, and the girl's head had the nebulosity of a composite photograph. Certainly, we—that is Jarvis and I— knew nothing of it until after Mary’s death. And I’ll have that story off you as we journey back to town. Do you think that it makes for happiness to force oneself into the extravagant belief that love is the only thing in the world worth having, and to sacrifice for it independence, self-respect, one’s whole scheme of life. Over the sea of heads arose a black and dismal object. Have you not given your life to God? Do you not repent?’ Coming to the bed, Melusine sat beside her old nurse and took hold of one of her hands.
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