Ah, Phyllis, I tell you--I, who know--I, who have found it out,--I tell you that the tragedy is the tragedy of all lovers who have ever lived in the world.

I tell you that it is the tragedy of love itself.

'Gallop apace, ye fiery-footed steeds!' That is the poem that the heart of the lover sings all day--all day! I have heard it--my heart has sung it.

I have heard the passionate gallop of those fiery-footed steeds.

I have listened to them while my heart beat in unison with their frantic career--all day counting the moments with fiery face, and then--then--something that was not passion forced me to fly from it for the salvation of my soul.