I Trust It Will Not Be Giving

…there Would Be No Powerful Will Binding Hers In That Blind Persistence With Which Men And Women Believe They Have A Right To Impose A Private Will Upon A Fellow Creature…and Yet She Had Loved Him- Sometimes. Often She Had Not. What Did It Matter! What Could Love, The Unsolved Mystery, Count For In The Face Of This Possession Of Self-assertion Which She Suddenly Recognized As The Strongest Impulse Of Her Being.

You Have Been A Very Foolish Boy, Wasting Your Time Dreaming Of Impossible Things When You Speak Of Mr. Pontellier Setting Me Free! I Am No Longer One Of Mr. Pontelliere's Possessions To Dispose Of Or Not. I Give Myself Where I Choose. If He Were To Say, 'here Robert, Take Her And Be Happy; She Is Yours,' I Should Laugh At You Both.

She Felt Like A Chess Player Who, By The Clever Handling Of His Pieces, Sees The Game Taking The Course Intended. Her Eyes Were Bright And Tender With A Smile As They Glanced Up Into His; And Her Lips Looked Hungry For The Kiss Which They Invited.

But The Beginning Of Things, Of A World Especially, Is Necessarily Vague, Chaotic, And Exceedingly Disturbing. How Few Of Us Ever Emerge From Such Beginning! How Many Souls Perish In Its Tumult! The Voice Of The Sea Is Seductive; Never Ceasing, Whispering, Clamoring, Murmuring, Inviting The Soul To Wander For A Spell In Abysses Of Solitude; To Lose Itself In Mazes Of Inward Contemplation. The Voice Of The Sea Speaks To The Soul. The Touch Of The Sea Is Sensuous, Enfolding The Body In Its Soft, Close Embrace.

A Bird With A Broken Wing Was Beating The Air Above, Reeling, Fluttering, Circling Disabled, Down, Down To The Water