He had still two days that he might employ thinking over the enterprise to which he was committed; and he certainly made the most of his time in this direction.

Now and again, as he thought of what was in store for him--for her--he felt as if he were lifted off the earth, and at other times he felt that he was crushed into the earth--crushed into it until he had become incapable of any thought that was not of the earth, earthy.

At such moments he felt inclined to walk down to the docks and step aboard the first vessel that was sailing eastward or westward or northward or southward.

Then it was that he found but the scantiest comfort in the consideration of the loveliness of love.

Glorifying life! No, corrupting life until life is more putrid than death.
That was what love was--something to fly from.