And then can it be
yet another of true love's sure signs to have a warm, sweet glow come
around the heart, as it never did before, and to have something tell you
that it will grow warmer and sweeter and brighter as long as you live? I
wonder--wonder--wonder. And could it be the surest sign of all, that you
don't know why any of all these things are so; that you only know that
everything some one is and says and thinks and does--satisfies and
delights your eyes and mind and heart and soul."
Two heavy tears, like sudden drops from a summer shower, fell on her
clasped hands, although her lips were smiling and she was still softly
thinking aloud.
"And yet there is another kind of love--quite, quite different from
this--and that, too, must be true. A feeling that you have had ever
since you could remember must be true, surely. And you are always
thinking about this one--always arguing with yourself about how right
and reasonable it is. There isn't any trouble in finding one the reasons
for this love. The only trouble about this kind of love is in your own
unworthiness.
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