There's only one thing I want for you.

If you could only see how divinely sacred the human part of us is--and how pathetic." Anne looked at her as she lay there, bright and brave, untroubled by her own mortal pathos.

In her, humanity, woman's humanity, was reduced to its simplest expression of spiritual loving and bodily suffering.

Anne was a child in her ignorance of the things that had been revealed to Edith lying there.
Looking at her, Anne's tears grew heavy and fell.
"It's your birthday," said Edith softly.
And as she heard Majendie's foot on the stairs Anne dried her eyes on the birthday pocket handkerchief.
"Here she is," said Edith as he entered.

"What are you going to do with her?
She doesn't have a birthday every day." "I'm going," he said, "to take her down to breakfast." Their meals so abounded in occasions for courtesy that they had become profoundly formal.