Then she looked up the sweep of pine-trees to the towering sunlit cliffs and the high heaven above and then back to his face. Moored to the steps, several wherries were dancing in the rushing current, as if impatient of restraint. You have converted me to—Lester Ward! You are my dear friend, you are a slip of a girl, but there are moments when my head has been on your breast, when your heart has been beating close to my ears, when I have known you for the goddess, when I have wished myself your slave, when I have wished that you could kill me for the joy of being killed by you.
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