"It is not pleasant for me to have to mention it, but I must do it.

Norman, do you quite forget what we were taught to believe when we were children--that our lives were to be passed together ?" "My dearest Philippa, pray spare yourself and me.

I did not know that you even remembered that childish nonsense." She raised her dark eyes to his face, and there was something in them before which he shrank as one who feels pain.
"One word, Norman--only one word.

That past which has been so much to me--that past in which I have lived, even more than in the present or the future--am I to look upon it as what you call nonsense ?" He took her hand in his.
"My dear Philippa," he said, "I hate myself for what I have to say--it makes me detest even the sound of my own voice.

Yet you are right--there is nothing for us but perfect frankness; anything else would be foolish.
Neither your mother nor mine had any right to try to bind us.