The well of tears in her eyes was dry. “All right. That shining slope of snow, and how we talked of death! We might have died! Even when we are old, when we are rich as we may be, we won’t forget the tune when we cared nothing for anything but the joy of one another, when we risked everything for one another, when all the wrappings and coverings seemed to have fallen from life and left it light and fire. You have made for yourself a unique place upon the stage. Let me walk you to the door. A father is in debt, we'll say. To the poor carpenter it seemed an endless distance. Well, kill me. Wood, "it may be poisoned.
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