Listen to them, the children of the night. What music they make!

Loneliness will sit over our roofs with brooding wings.

I suppose a cry does us all good at times-clears the air as other rain does.

I suppose that we women are such cowards that we think a man will save us from fears, and we marry him.

Never did tombs look so ghastly white. Never did cypress, or yew, or juniper so seem the embodiment of funeral gloom. Never did tree or grass wave or rustle so ominously. Never did bough creak so mysteriously, and never did the far-away howling of dogs send such a woeful presage through the night.

I am all in a sea of wonders. I doubt; I fear; I think strange things, which I dare not confess to my own soul. God keep me, if only for the sake of those dear to me!

Yes, there is some one I love, though he has not told me yet that he even loves me.