Here was an appalling fact: all her previous loneliness had been trifling beside that which now encompassed her and would for years to come. After knocking for some time at the door without effect, he tried the latch, and to his surprise found it open. "What poet was that?" "Stevenson. Besides, he was a Yale man. This was the worst summer that I ever had in my life, Europe and all, and I can’t tell you how many times I drove by that Violin Camp hoping to catch a look at you, praying that there wasn’t some horny violin guy waiting to ask you out. He'd never forgive you.
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