From The Very First, I

She Had To Live In This Bright, Red Gabled House With The Nurse Until It Was Time For Her To Die... I Thought How Little We Know About The Feelings Of Old People. Children We Understand, Their Fears And Hopes And Make-believe.

...as The Slow Sea Sucked At The Shore And Then Withdrew, Leaving The Strip Of Seaweed Bare And The Shingle Churned, The Sea Birds Raced And Ran Upon The Beaches. Then That Same Impulse To Flight Seized Upon Them Too. Crying, Whistling, Calling, They Skimmed The Placid Sea And Left The Shore. Make Haste, Make Speed, Hurry And Begone; Yet Where, And To What Purpose? The Restless Urge Of Autumn, Unsatisfying, Sad, Had Put A Spell Upon Them And They Must Flock, And Wheel, And Cry; They Must Spill Themselves Of Motion Before Winter Came.

When The Leaves Rustle, They Sound Very Much Like The Stealthy Movement Of A Woman In Evening Dress, And When They Shiver Suddenly, And Fall, And Scatter Away Along The Ground, They Might Be The Patter Of A Woman’s Hurrying Footsteps, And The Mark In The Gravel The Imprint Of A High-heeled Shoe.

...but I Should Say That Kindliness, And Sincerity, And If I May Say So--modesty--are Worth Far More To A Man, To A Husband, Than All The Wit And Beauty In The World.

Will You Look Into My Eyes And Tell Me That You Love Me Now?