All that I regret are the wasted years, and I am not sure that I regret them. Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard— where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—a momentary stoppage took place. I never intended it to be anything but a short story, for I had never completed even the shortest of stories unless forced to in grammar school. ‘But there is something still I do not understand. If not, keep up your spirits. “The very question, my dear sister,” she said, “tells me that I have succeeded. "You have killed him," cried Winifred in alarm. . There was only one clean spot in the picture—the ship's wash (all white) that fluttered on a line stretched between the two masts.
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