By this time, she had so far succeeded in calming herself, that she answered the greetings of the neighbours whom she encountered on her way to the sacred edifice—if sorrowfully, still composedly. ” She spoke like a mistress addressing school-children. ” He stated matter-of-factly. ” “Don’t say that,” Sydney begged. She was going through with that, anyhow. And at the thought of that other lover—he was convinced that that beloved person was a lover, and she found herself unable to say a word to explain to him that this other person, the person she loved, did not even know of her love—Ramage grew angry and savage once more, and returned suddenly to gibe and insult. But let that verse tell my secret. It was in another world from that in which men will die for a kiss, and touching hands lights fires that burn up lives—the world of romance, the world of passionately beautiful things. The ragged edge. They are mine! They were sent to ‘Alcide’ not to you.
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