"Flight is still left me," replied Trenchard. And I heard ‘Alcide’ sing, and that little dance she did. It has been a marvellous day—and I am going to England. ‘You don’t mean to say she’s here?’ ‘Was,’ Gerald corrected. Feels as if I’ve been dashing back and forth about the whole country, if you want to know. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. The open windows were above them now and, unless the intruder were to lean out, they could not possibly be seen. There is only Gerald to see me, after all. I never intended it to be anything but a short story, for I had never completed even the shortest of stories unless forced to in grammar school. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose.
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