The summer arrived, speeding the Plague and with it the famine in the streets. But that other world, in spite of her resolute exclusion of it, was always looking round corners and peeping through chinks and crannies, and rustling and raiding into the order in which she chose to live, shining out of pictures at her, echoing in lyrics and music; it invaded her dreams, it wrote up broken and enigmatical sentences upon the passage walls of her mind. And when you reflect how much at heart your poor mother, whose loss we must ever deplore, had our union, you will, I am persuaded, no longer refuse me. My natural parents both died a very long time ago and I have been on my own for a great deal of my existence. You have shown an almost feverish anxiety to eliminate from your personal appearance all that reminded me of you —when we first met.
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