Nor did she resist, but winced a little; and I could see her look upon me with a frown that was not unkindly, only sad and baffled.

And then it seemed she made a call upon her resolution; plucked my hand towards her, herself at the same time leaning somewhat forward, and laid it on the beating of her heart.
'There,' she cried, 'you feel the very footfall of my life.

It only moves for you; it is yours.

But is it even mine?
It is mine indeed to offer you, as I might take the coin from my neck, as I might break a live branch from a tree, and give it you.

And yet not mine! I dwell, or I think I dwell (if I exist at all), somewhere apart, an impotent prisoner, and carried about and deafened by a mob that I disown.