“One is always playing the surgeon, one kills always the thing one loves best. “They died within a few months of one another. Each manuscript was like the other: the same lovely treatment of an unlovely subject. But something instinctive prevented that, and with the finest resolve not to be “silly” and prudish she found that whenever he became at all bold in this matter she became severely scientific and impersonal, almost entomological indeed, in her method; she killed every remark as he made it and pinned it out for examination. She was as lovely in the spirit as in the flesh. "Shall I never see that sweet face again,—never feel the pressure of those kind hands more—nor listen to that gentle voice! Ah! yes, we shall meet again in Heaven, where I shall speedily join you.
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