But, through it all, I loved you still.

I love you to-night, as I never loved you before.

The whole world is nothing to me, excepting as the place on which you walk.
"I have seen the man--- the selfish, self-absorbed fool--on whom you threw yourself away, six months after you had cast me adrift.

At this moment he is my guest, snoring in an adjoining room while I sit up writing to you.
"He has spent the evening talking of nothing but himself, his journey, his wonderful book--the strongest thing he has done yet, etc., etc., etc.; till I could have risen up and strangled him with my two hands.
Oh, Helen--my lovely one--he is altogether unworthy of you! I saw a letter of yours long ago, in which you said he was like a young sun-god.

Handsome he is, I admit.