The Delicious Breath Of Rain Was In

She Was Moved By A Kind Of Commiseration... A Pity For That Colorless Existence Which Never Uplifted Its Possessor Beyond The Region Of Blind Contentment, In Which No Moment Of Anguish Ever Visited Her Soul, In Which She Would Never Have The Taste Of Life's Delirium.

I Don't Mind Walking. I Always Feel So Sorry For Women Who Don't Like To Walk; They Miss So Much--so Many Rare Little Glimpses Of Life; And We Women Learn So Little Of Life On The Whole.

She Was Still Under The Spell Of Her Infatuation. She Had Tried To Forget Him, Realizing The Inutility Of Remembering. But The Thought Of Him Was Like An Obsession, Ever Pressing Itself Upon Her. It Was Not That She Dwelt Upon Details Of Their Acquaintance, Or Recalled In Any Special Or Peculiar Way His Personality; It Was His Being, His Existence, Which Dominated Her Thought, Fading Sometimes As If It Would Melt Into The Mist Of The Forgotten, Reviving Again With An Intensity Which Filled Her With An Incomprehensible Longing.

There Are Periods Of Despondency And Suffering Which Take Possession Of Me. But I Don't Want Anything But My Own Way. That Is Wanting A Good Deal, Of Course, When You Have To Trample Upon The Lives, The Hearts, The Prejudices Of Others-

The Delicious Breath Of Rain Was In The Air.