She reflected upon that with a thrill of terror that was also, somehow, in some faint remote way, gleeful. "I am happy—quite happy now. “You underestimate your own sickness, and the ill humors that struck you may strike again. And it’s like the petals falling from a flower. I want to go on with my University work under proper conditions, now that I’ve done the Intermediate. I do not think that you will dare to marry anybody else. Hitherto she had seen it chiefly in pictures and other works of art, incidentally, and as a thing taken out of life. Day after day—five, to be exact—she had returned to Morgan's; and each time the man would understand what had drawn her, and with a kindly smile would sit down at the piano and play. “Ruin me? Think of me with fondness? Are you dying of cancer or something?” He demanded. I’ve loved her for two years, I love her now.
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