“Well, whatever I may have thought one thing is certain—I do love you—past all compass and description. I love you to oppressiveness —I, who have never before felt more than a pleasant passing fancy for any woman I have ever seen. Let me look right into your moon-lit face, and dwell on every line and curve in it. Only a few hair-breadths make the difference between this face and faces I have seen many times before I knew you; yet what a difference—the difference between everything and nothing at all. One touch on that mouth again; there, and there, and there.—Your eyes seem heavy, Eustacia.”
