She could not look at him through an interval that seemed to her a vast gulf of time. Spurlock dove headlong at the other's legs, toppling the man. To love in such a way, it is excessively selfish. That is what terrified her: the consciousness that nothing in her life would be continuous, that she would no sooner form friendships (like the present) than relentless fate would thrust her into a new circle. " "Not now, my love—not now," entreated Wood. ” He looked into her pale blue eyes. Perhaps that sealed letter was a form of confession, and thus relieved him on that score.
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