spending the rest of her life with me on a mountain. She is very fond of me, but her feeling for me is not like mine for her, which indeed is natural. And her life is made up mostly of sacrifices—doing for her fellow-creatures, giving of herself. She never would leave this.
And so, then, the mountainside and the solitude and the friend with me are, like every good thing, but a vision.
"Thy friend is always thy friend; not to have, nor to hold, nor to love, nor to rejoice in: but to remember."
And so do I remember my one friend, the anemone lady—and think often about her with passionate love.
