The weariest night, the longest day, sooner or later must perforce come to an end.

Now, when their glances met, they understood one another. The power that lay within both their souls had met, and, as it were, clasped hands. They accepted one another's sacrifice. Hers, mayhap, was the more complete of the two, because for her his absence would mean weary waiting, the dull heartache so terrible to bear.

Look at this limp cravet. And the sad state of those cuffs. I can hardly bring myself to look upon them.

The weariest night, the longest day, sooner or later must perforce come to an end.

Your mock saint who stands in a niche is not a woman if she have not suffered, still less a woman if she have not sinned. Fall at the feet of your idol as you wish, but drag her down to your level after that -- the only level she should ever reach, that of your heart.

Fate is usually swift when she deals a blow.

Money and titles may be hereditary," she would say, "but brains are not,".