The sphere of beauty was a glass lamp-globe for delirious moths.

She had changed.
Belief in the real change gave her full view of the compliant coward she had been.
Her heart assured her she had natural courage.

She felt that it could be stubborn to resist a softness.

Now she cared no more for the hackneyed musical word; friendship was her desire.

If it is not life's poetry, it is a credible prose; a land of low undulations instead of Alps; beyond the terrors and the deceptions.