Chapter 52
II. I thought that I might see you, sweet, that after all this weary year, by some good fortune we might meet and kiss each other here. I told my heart to bide a while, and not to faint with vain regret. I even forced my lips to smile, my conscience to forget.
I killed depression as it rose, and built new castles on the sand. This was the place my fancy chose, that I should hold your hand. And I have held your hand, my dear, a second, daring not to press your fingertips, in mortal fear to meet your eyes. And yet I bless that little moment nonetheless.
