His eyes clouded with tears as he looked down into the trustful face.

The fog had darkened to a denser blackness, and it was almost as if they were engulfed in sudden night.
'If we are never to find our way down the hill; if this were to be the last hour of our lives, Mary, would you be content ?' 'Quite content,' she answered, simply.

'I think I have lived long enough, if you really love me--if you are not making fun.' 'What, Molly, do you still doubt?
Is it strange that I love you ?' 'Very strange.

I am so different from Lesbia.' 'Yes, very different, and the difference is your highest charm.

And now, love, we had better go down whichever side of the hill is easiest, for this fog is rather appalling.