““He said someday I would come home and regret ever leaving." She murmured something, perhaps her own remembrance of a place lost. "Do you?" she said after some time. "Yes . . . I mean to say, no," he corrected. "Oh, bother, I don't know." "Don't fret over it. You can't get back the time you've lived, and all you have is what is before you," she said sagely. "Egads, I find myself betrothed to a bluestocking," he teased. "Who was that, Aristotle?" She laughed. "No, Aunt Bedelia.””
