’ He glanced at the portrait behind her. Sheppard. Habits and tastes are no longer the same. He was more like a man who had left his bed in the middle of convalescence. She was nude and horribly maimed. "Fire! That was what drew me to you in the beginning. Naturally you shout yourself hoarse when she has finished, and feel jolly pleased with yourself. Sir John followed her gaze, and also saw them. It isn’t what I have been but what I am. Romance! The romance of passing faces, of wires that carried voices and words to the far ends of the world, of tremendous mechanisms that propelled ships and trains! And, oh the beautiful books! She swiftly knelt upon the floor and once more gathered the books to her heart. The joy of being loved thrilled her as nothing before had ever done, a curious abstract joy which had nothing in it at that moment of regret or even pity.
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