Never mind what happened for a little bit. Love scenes, if genuine,
are indescribable; for to those who have enacted them, the most
elaborate description seems tame, and to those who have not, the
simplest picture seems overdone. So romancers had better let
imagination paint for them that which is above all art, and leave
their lovers to themselves during the happiest minutes of their
lives.
Before long, Tom and Polly were sitting side by side, enjoying the
blissful state of mind which usually follows the first step out of our
work-a-day world, into the glorified region wherein lovers
rapturously exist for a month or two. Tom just sat and looked at
Polly as if he found it difficult to believe that the winter of his
discontent had ended in this glorious spring. But Polly, being a
true woman, asked questions, even while she laughed and cried for
joy.
"Now, Tom, how could I know you loved me when you went away
and never said a word?" she began, in a tenderly reproachful tone,
thinking of the hard year she had spent.
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