'What else, my angel?
What are words to me?
There is but one name that I care to know you by.

Flora, my love!' 'Anne!' she said.
What sound is so full of music as one's own name uttered for the first time in the voice of her we love! 'My darling!' said I.
The jealous bars, set at the top and bottom in stone and lime, obstructed the rapture of the moment; but I took her to myself as wholly as they allowed.

She did not shun my lips.

My arms were wound round her body, which yielded itself generously to my embrace.

As we so remained, entwined and yet severed, bruising our faces unconsciously on the cold bars, the irony of the universe--or as I prefer to say, envy of some of the gods--again stirred up the elements of that stormy night.