That old thing.
I was a child to the world and he was ardent in his attention, that was all, no more to it than that, no need to make a drama. I was just the latest in a string, it was the thrill of the chase, and I was chaste, and he was a most immoderate, mercurial lover.
So they told me.
The letter got through; Daddy intervened: the whole affair was annulled, cousin Ben got the goods.
And I was sent here, where I bloomed and withered in turn, and from which vantage, out of habit, I look back through long, dusty decades to pure love.
My only love.
No happy dagger for me.