"It was the other man." "What part is it that survives ?" he asked, a little bitterly.

"Why should the new man be cursed with memory?
Don't you think that even then there must have been two of me, one struggling against the other--one seeking for the big things, one laying hold of the lower?
We are all like that, Edith! Even now I sometimes feel the tug, although it leads in other directions." "To Garden Green ?" she murmured.
"Never that," he answered fiercely, "and you know it.

There are lower heights, though, in the most cultured of lives.

There are moments of madness, moments that carry one off one's feet, which come alike to the slave and his master.

Dear Edith, up here one can talk.