Dear one! you sit there in the corner of the carriage; and you do not know me; and your eyes forbid. Is it the dirt, the squalor, the wear of human bodies, and the dead faces of our neighbors? These are but symbols. You are proud; I praise you; your mouth is set; you see beyond us; and you see nothing. I have the vision of your calm, cold face, and of the black hair that waves above it; I watch you; I love you; I desire you. There is a quiet here within the thud-thud of the wheels upon the railway. There is a quiet here within my heart, but tense and tender… This is my station…
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