Love is not something to be missed, Dr. Gibson. Why do you think I, a comfortable widower, made a fool of myself over Mrs. Fernsby until she finally consented to be my wife?” “Convenience?” she guessed. “Good God, no. There’s nothing convenient about joining your life to another person’s. Marriage is a sack race: you may find a way to hop together toward the finish line, but you would still reach it more easily without the sack.” “Then why do it at all?” “Our existence, even our intellect, hangs upon love—without it, we would be no more than stock and stones.” Inwardly astonished by such a
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