’ For my own part I go about loving. You must forgive the poet’s license I take. Her eyes fell, and then sought his again with timid interest. She hung for a moment, and then went on, conclusively, “Until we have the vote that is how things WILL be. Besides, he was a Yale man. “You didn’t expect that I should kiss you?” “How was I to know that a man would—would think it was possible—when there was nothing—no love?” “How did I know there wasn’t love?” That silenced her for a moment. But you belong to me—and I want you. It is better as it is. There is no poison that would affect her. \"Thanks for lending me the clothes.
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