They are not meant to be spoken -- only felt and endured . I should n't have spoken -- but it has helped -- some . At least , it has given me strength to go away respectably tomorrow morning , without making a scene . You 'll write me now and then , wo n't you , Mrs. Blythe , and give me what news there is to give of her ? '' `` Yes , '' said Anne . `` Oh , I 'm so sorry you are going -- we 'll miss you so -- we 've all been such friends ! If it were not for this you could come back other summers . Perhaps , even yet -- by-and-by -- when you 've forgotten , perhaps -- '' `` I shall never forget -- and I shall never come back to Four Winds , '' said Owen briefly . Silence and twilight fell over the garden . Far away the sea was lapping gently and monotonously on the bar . The wind of evening in the poplars sounded like some sad , weird , old rune -- some broken dream of old memories . A slender shapely young aspen rose up before them against the fine maize and emerald and paling rose of the western sky , which brought out every leaf and twig in dark , tremulous , elfin loveliness . `` Is n't that beautiful ? '' said Owen , pointing to it with the air of a man who puts a certain conversation behind him . `` It 's so beautiful that it hurts me , '' said Anne softly . `` Perfect things like that always did hurt me -- I remember I called it ` the queer ache ' when I was a child . What is the reason that pain like this seems inseparable from perfection ? Is it the pain of finality -- when we realise that there can be nothing beyond but retrogression ? '' `` Perhaps , '' said Owen dreamily , `` it is the prisoned infinite in us calling out to its kindred infinite as expressed in that visible perfection . '' `` You seem to have a cold in the head .
Better rub some tallow XXXXX your nose when you go to bed , '' said Miss Cornelia , who had come in through the little gate between the firs in time to catch Owen 's last remark .
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