No," interrupted Marcia emphatically. "And you're a sweet boy. Come here and kiss me." Horace stopped quickly in front of her. "Why do you want me to kiss you?" he asked intently. "Do you just go round kissing people?" "Why, yes," admitted Marcia, unruffled. "'At's all life is. Just going around kissing people.

What'll we do with ourselves this afternoon? And the day after that, and the next thirty years?

Men she knew'? - she had conceded vaguely to herself that all men who had ever been in love with her were her friends.

But I always felt that I'd rather be provincial hot-tamale than soup without seasoning.

They had never been closer in their month of love, nor communicated more profoundly one with another, than when she brushed silent lips against his coat's shoulder or when he touched the end of her fingers, gently, as though she were asleep.

It seemed that the only lover she had ever wanted was a lover in a dream.

There is no confusion like the confusion of a simple mind.