many hours' rushing through the fresh air, or by food and drink and their own physical well-being. … But, oh, the glory of the sea, the wind, the clouds. …' She loves nature, does she? …'I've thought of you a good deal, and of our talks. You have the gift of making one say more than one means to say, but you understand so well that it makes it all right. Who taught you all you know about life? I am older than you, I've seen a good deal of the world, and yet you are so much surer than I, of yourself and of other people. I'm sure of nothing, except that I cannot go on as I am living now. I don't know what is before me, but already I feel as though I had left all this crowd of people that are despoiling me of my life far behind, as though I were flying along the road to freedom—Freedom! It may be only death. I'm in a machine that's beyond my control, and who knows what the next turn of the road may bring? Oh, God! if I could only give myself to something entirely worthy, if I could get away from this trivial self of mine. …'"
Teresa's voice faltered. She threw the letter down, and sat looking at the floor, her lips pouting with an injured expression. Basil was silent, and when she glanced up at him she saw that he looked uncomfortable. He took the letter, folded it, and put it in his pocket.
"Why does she write to you like that?"
