The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. You shall behold him. “I do,” he answered. Of what use was the temporary set-back to memory, when it always returned with redoubled poignancy? Then came another thought, astonishing. There were words, then, that ran on indefinitely, with reversals? Here they meant one thing; there, the exact opposite. It must have been impossible to see me through that much rain. “I am convinced you haven’t thought this out,” he went on.
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