You are all that I am or hope to be—the celestial atom God put into me at the beginning. There was a coffee equipage on the table, and some sandwiches, and the fire had been recently made up. Her figure, though slight, had all the fulness of health; and her complexion—still pale, but without its former sickly cast,—contrasted agreeably, by its extreme fairness, with the dark brows and darker lashes that shaded eyes which, if they had lost some of their original brilliancy, had gained infinitely more in the soft and chastened lustre that replaced it. I wanted something alive.
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