“We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. ’ ‘I’m not going to release you, so it’s no use complaining. “But a boy—a boy goes out into the world and presently stands on his own feet. Would it be Thérèse?’ She shook her head. That shining slope of snow, and how we talked of death! We might have died! Even when we are old, when we are rich as we may be, we won’t forget the tune when we cared nothing for anything but the joy of one another, when we risked everything for one another, when all the wrappings and coverings seemed to have fallen from life and left it light and fire. She cried as he watched, frozen to the ground. It would have been the right idea, had Ruth been other than what she was. ” Brendon rose and came towards her with outstretched hand.
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