The Voice Of The Sea Speaks To

Exhaustion Was Pressing Upon And Overpowering Her. "good-by--because I Love You." He Did Not Know; He Did Not Understand. He Would Never Understand. Perhaps Doctor Mandelet Would Have Understood If She Had Seen Him--but It Was Too Late; The Shore Was Far Behind Her, And Her Strength Was Gone. She Looked Into The Distance, And The Old Terror Flamed Up For An Instant, Then Sank Again.

I'm Going To Pull Myself Together For A While And Think-try To Determine What Character Of A Woman I Am; For, Candidly, I Don't Know. By All The Codes Which I Am Acquainted With, I Am A Devilishly Wicked Specimen Of The Sex. But Some Way I Can't Convince Myself That I Am. I Must Think About It.

No, I Only Think You Cruel, As I Said The Other Day. Maybe Not Intentionally Cruel; But You Seem To Be Forcing Me Into Disclosures Which Can Result In Nothing; As If You Would Have Me Bare A Wound For The Pleasure Of Looking At It, Without The Intention Or Power Of Healing It.

Does He Write To You? Never A Line. Does He Send You A Message? Never A Word. It Is Because He Loves You, Poor Fool, And Is Trying To Forget You, Since You Are Not Free To Listen To Him Or To Belong To Him.

Do You Suppose A Woman Knows Why She Loves? Does She Select? Does She Say To Herself, 'go To! Here Is A Distinguished Statesman With Presidential Possibilities; I Shall Proceed To Fall In Love With Him.' Or, 'i Shall Set My Heart Upon This Musician, Whose Fame Is On Every Tongue?' Or 'this Financier, Who Controls The World's Money Markets?'