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Updated: May 18, 2025
All that night I tossed about on my uncomfortable feather-bed, or rather, when I found I could not sleep, I rose after a time, and wrapped in my dressing-gown, I sat by my tiny window, watching the shadows of the wind-blown locust-boughs on the moonlit grass below, full of the dreams which are the stuff that romances are made of, and which, though I had often used them as "material," I had never known myself before; shy and tender dreams they were, that glorified that summer night, and kept me wakeful until dawn.
I seem to be in her thoughts all the time. It is because she loves Ned so much, of course; but it is just as kind of her." "I think she loves you almost as much as Ned," said Clover. "Oh, she couldn't do that; Ned is her only brother. There is Amy at the gate now." It was a much taller Amy than had come home from Italy the year before who was walking toward them under the budding locust-boughs.
He stooped over the big mangled body, joking with him, it was the best comfort to Pat to give him a chance to show how little he cared for the surgeon's knife, glancing now and then at the pearly embankment of clouds in the south, or at the delicate locust-boughs in black and shivering tracery against the moonlight, trying to shut his ears to the unceasing under-current of moans that reached him in the silence.
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