“Even so, dear lord—and her hair was white under the garland—”
“Celluloid teeth, nine dollars a set, as like as not—the loose-fit kind, that go up and down like a portcullis when you eat, and fall out when you laugh.”
“The second damsel was of thirty winter of age, with a circlet of gold about her head. The third damsel was but fifteen year of age—”
Billows of thought came rolling over my soul, and the voice faded out of my hearing!
Fifteen! Break—my heart! oh, my lost darling! Just her age who was so gentle, and lovely, and all the world to me, and whom I shall never see again! How the thought of her carries me back over wide seas of memory to a vague dim time, a happy time, so many, many centuries hence, when I used to wake in the soft summer mornings, out of sweet dreams of her, and say “Hello, Central!” just to hear her dear voice come melting back to me with a “Hello, Hank!” that was music of the spheres to my