I could never have talked to you like this, forgetting everything that parts us, forgetting even your age, if I did not love you utterly. “Only—I have come face to face—with something terrible, and wholly unexpected trouble. The emerald wings, slashed with scarlet and yellow, wheeling and swooping about her head, there among the wild plantain. To dream and to labour: to you, my labour; to Ruth, my dreams.
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