But his gloom appeared to be occasioned by remorse, rather than sorrow. You don’t understand, Lucy, they just aren’t like that. ” He made his voice very low and full, and looked closely into her face. “I shall never be able to thank you. “I wonder,” she said, “why one writes him sentences like that? It’ll have to go,” she decided, “I’ve written too many already. The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice.
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