You can't kill a minuet de la coeur. You may shut up the music book... but surely the minuet-- the minuet itself is dancing itself away into the furthest stars, even as our minuet of the Hessian bathing places must be stepping itself still.

“She had always known under her mind and now she confessed it: her agony had bee…”

“He wouldn't write a letter because he couldn't without beginning it 'Dear Sylvi…”

“Oh, child,' the Father exclaimed, 'whether it's St Martha or that Mary that mad…”

“[W]e are almost always in one place with our minds somewhere quite other.”