He 's seen her -- drat her ! It 's time she gave up that kind of work . Well , I dunno what to do -- thar ai n't anything I can do , I reckon . He 'll never marry now -- I 'm as sure of that as of any mortal thing . He 's in love with a ghost . '' It had not yet occurred to Roger that he was in love . He thought of nothing but Isabel Temple -- her lovely , lovely face , sweeter than any picture he had ever seen or any ideal he had dreamed , her long dark hair , her slim form and , more than all , her compelling eyes . He saw them wherever he looked -- they drew him -- he would have followed them to the end of the world , heedless of all else . He longed for night , that he might again steal to the grave in the haunted grove . She might come again -- who knew ? He felt no fear , nothing but a terrible hunger to see her again . But she did not come that night -- nor the next -- nor the next . Two weeks went by and he had not seen her . Perhaps he would never see her again -- the thought filled him with anguish not to be borne . He knew now that he loved her -- Isabel Temple , dead for eighty years . This was love -- this searing , torturing , intolerably sweet thing -- this possession of body and soul and spirit . The poets had sung but weakly of it . He could tell them better if he could find words . Could other men have loved at all -- could any man love those blowzy , common girls of earth ? It seemed impossible -- absurd .
There was only one XXXXX that could be loved -- that white spirit .
end ghost grave heedless hunger man men thing thought time