One May Be Clogged With Honey And

Th' Longest Lane Will Have A Turning.

Take Care. -if You Do Not Speak- I Shall Claim You As My Own In Some Presumptuous Way. -send Me Away At Once, If I Must Go; -margaret!-

Really It Is Very Wholesome Exercise, This Trying To Make One's Words Represent One's Thoughts, Instead Of Merely Looking To Their Effect On Others.

There Was A Filmy Veil Of Soft Dull Mist Obscuring, But Not Hiding, All Objects, Giving Them A Lilac Hue, For The Sun Had Not Yet Fully Set; A Robin Was Singing ... The Leaves Were More Gorgeous Than Ever; The First Touch Of Frost Would Lay Them All Low To The Ground. Already One Or Two Kept Constantly Floating Down, Amber And Golden In The Low Slanting Sun-rays.

She Lay Down And Never Stirred. To Move Hand Or Foot, Or Even So Much As One Finger, Would Have Been An Exertion Beyond The Powers Of Either Volition Or Motion. She Was So Tired, So Stunned, That She Thought She Never Slept At All; Her Feverish Thoughts Passed And Repassed The Boundary Between Sleeping And Waking, And Kept Their Own Miserable Identity.