” She could practically hear the self-deprecating thoughts racing across his mind, the failed hours of rehearsed lines. "With me?" said Thames. “Flesh and flowers are all alike to me. I love everything to-day, and all of you, but I love this, this—this innocence upon us most of all. Strangers look in and long, and neighbours are moved to envy. Yet in some hidden corner was a vein of sentiment, of which for the first time in his later life he was now unexpectedly aware. I loved her so much. He appeared to be strangely uncommunicative, though I tried to draw him out.
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