You like solitude." "Pardon me." "You disdain sympathy." "Do I, Mr. Moore?" "With your powerful mind you must feel independent of help, of advice, of society." "So be it, since it pleases you." She smiled. She pursued her embroidery carefully and quickly, but her eyelash twinkled, and then it glittered, and then a drop fell. Mr. Moore leaned forward on his desk, moved his chair, altered his attitude. "If it is not so," he asked, with a peculiar, mellow change in his voice, "how is it, then?"
*melts*
