Nights and nights I have done this.

Nothing else in life seemed so important, for it did hold him back a little.

But not so much as if he had loved me more.
He loved me some, but he couldn't have loved me very much, or he would have sent me some word, or seen me, if but for a minute, since Adelaide's death.

And he hasn't, he hasn't! and that makes it harder for me to acknowledge the watch I kept on him, and how I know he never went through our grounds for the second time that night.

He went once, about nine, but not later.