“I don't know. We've always assumed it was the other way about.”
“Even when the train goes out of the station—! I've seen you into so many trains.”
“I shall go on thinking of things to say to you—things to put in your letters. For years to come. How can I ever stop thinking in that way now? We've got into each other's brains.”
“It isn't real,” I said; “nothing is real. The world's no more than a fantastic dream. Why are we parting, Isabel?”
“I don't know. It seems now supremely silly. I suppose we have to. Can't we meet?—don't you think we shall meet even in dreams?”
“We'll meet a thousand times in dreams,” I said.
“I wish we could dream at the same time,” said Isabel.... “Dream walks. I can't believe, dear,