One cannot take in infinite wretchedness: it is our nature to make dates and periods to our sorrows in our imagination.
And so that horrid afternoon and evening passed, amid the racket and babel of visitors and visiting.

I followed almost blindly, and did as the others did.

The next morning dawned bright and cold.

What a day for summer! The sun was brilliant, but the wind came from over icebergs; it seemed like "winter painted green." We were to start at nine o'clock.

I was ready early, waiting on the piazza for the aid to fate that was to keep me from the punishment of going.