The Delicious Breath Of Rain Was In

She Was Flushed And Felt Intoxicated With The Sound Of Her Own Voice And The Unaccustomed Taste Of Candor. It Muddled Her Like Wine, Or Like A First Breath Of Freedom.

There Would Be No One There To Live For Her During Those Coming Years; She Would Live For Herself. There Would Be No Powerful Will Bending Hers In That Blind Persistance With Which Men And Women Believe They Have A Right To Impose A Private Will Upon A Fellow-creature. A Kind Intention Or A Cruel Intention Made The Act Seem No Less A Crime As She Looked Upon It In That Brief Moment Of Illumination.

He Greatly Valued His Possessions, Chiefly Because They Were His, And Derived Genuine Pleasure From Contemplating A Painting, A Statuette, A Rare Lace Curtain - No Matter What - After He Had Bought It And Placed It Among His Household Gods.

The Past Was Nothing To Her; Offered No Lesson Which She Was Willing To Heed. The Future Was A Mystery Which She Never Attempted To Penetrate. The Present Alone Was Significant.

She Missed Him The Days When Some Pretext Served To Take Him Away From Her, Just As One Misses The Sun On A Cloudy Day Without Having Thought Much About The Sun When It Was Shining.