century. But I don't throw the word love about indiscriminately. It may be all true about the sea; but some people would say that they love sausages."
"You are horrible."
"I am surprised."
"I mean your choice of words."
"And you have never uttered a word yet that didn't change into a pearl as it dropped from your lips. At least not before me."
She glanced down deliberately and said, "This is better. But I don't see any of them on the floor."
"It's you who are horrible in the implications of your language. Don't see any on the floor! Haven't I caught up and treasured them all in my heart? I am not the animal from which sausages are made."
She looked at me suavely and then with the sweetest possible smile breathed out the word: "No."
And we both laughed very loud. O! days of innocence! On this occasion we parted from each other on a light-hearted note. But already I had acquired the conviction that there was nothing more lovable in the world than that woman; nothing more life-giving, inspiring, and illuminating than the emanation of her charm. I meant it absolutely—not excepting the light of the sun.
From this there was only one step further to take. The step into a conscious surrender; the open perception that this charm, warming like a flame, was also all-revealing like a great light; giving new depth to shades, new brilliance to colours, an amazing vividness to all sensations and vitality to all thoughts: so that all that had been lived before seemed to have been lived in a drab world and with a languid pulse.
