He found, however, that now the time had come he utterly lacked the courage to attempt any such speech. That held his thought as the magnet holds the needle, inescapably. He leaned forward, and looked into the eyes of the woman he loved, and it seemed to him that she sang back to him with a sudden note of something like passion breaking here and there through the gay mocking words which flowed with such effortless and seductive music from her lips. He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory. Wearied at length with thinking on the past, and terrified by the prospect of the future, he threw himself on the straw with which the cage was littered, and endeavoured to compose himself to slumber. Do you have a car?” She asked. I don't have a phone in my room.
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