Loving was self-forgetfulness, pure delighting in another human being. Do you think I forget it? Didn't they help themselves to all the plate and the money —to several of my best dresses, and amongst others, to my favourite kincob gown; and I've never been able to get another like it! Marry, come up! I'd hang 'em all, if I could. ’ She bit her lip and thought deeply. ‘But do you think I can blame you for this, Marthe?’ ‘I blame myself. His hat was placed upon one pole, his wig on another. I am an old friend, and I declined to be shelved. She had a feeling at his departure as of an immense cavity, of something enormously gone; she could not tell whether it was infinite regret or infinite relief.
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