"I swear it," rejoined Jonathan, readily. Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon. I completed it according to the directions, you see, and it was a beautiful machine, a triangle sort of, with a steering column I built out of an old wheelbarrow and a hubcap. But I am not worthy to be any man's wife —far less his wife. Probably she mistook you; probably she thought you cared. “You are the most perfect, the most glorious of created things—tender, frank intellectual, brave, beautiful. Certainly I would not murder monsieur le major, even that he has made a threat to beat me.
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