knows it. If anybody could have saved me it would have been you. Everything has gone from me but the certainty of your goodness. I can’t go on spoiling your life any longer.1
That sort of love, that sort of happiness—what an extraordinary thing that is to contemplate. It is such a rarity in life and in marriage that one can not help but think that the core fact of this woman’s life is not that she was hounded by madness but that she was blessed by love. That is a message too, perhaps, of this book you are about to read, The Voyage Out.
He was silent for a moment. Silence seemed to have fallen upon the world.
“That is what I have felt ever since I knew you,” he replied. “We are happy together.” He did not seem to be speaking, or she to be hearing.
“Very happy,” she answered.
They continued to walk for some time in silence. Their steps unconsciously quickened.
“We love each other,” [he] said.
“We love each other,” she repeated.
The silence was then broken by their voices which joined in tones of strange unfamiliar sound which formed no words. Faster and faster they walked; simultaneously they stopped, clasped each other in their arms, then releasing themselves, dropped to the earth. They sat side by side. Sounds stood out from the background making a bridge across their silence; they heard the swish of the trees and some beast croaking in a remote world.
“We love each other,” [he] repeated, searching into her face. Their faces were both very pale and quiet, and they said nothing.
T. N. R. ROGERS
1 The Letters of Virginia Woolf, vol. VI, p. 481.
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