When she awoke she felt as if she were adrift on a soft cloud through a golden sky. "What for?" rejoined Quilt, evasively. He pictured himself visiting the girl in this shabby little home of her aunt’s—she had told him that it was shabby—and he recalled that delicious little smile with which she would surely greet him, a smile which seemed to be a matter of the eyes as well as the lips. She attempted by a sheer act of will to end the scene, to will herself out of it anywhere. All your faults are just jolly modelling to make you real and solid. And more boys die than girls, so that the real disproportion among adults is even greater.
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