Cornelia A. P. Comer, The Preliminaries, and Other Stories
“ Her lips shaped, unbidden, that old, old demand of the hungry heart. "Marvel--don't you love me at all?" Marvel hesitated. Her air of detachment was complete. "You never tried to make me love you, mother. Even love goes by a kind of logic. Domestic life gives you one kind of reward; public life another kind. You get the kind you choose, I take it, and no other. If you want love, you must choose the love-bringing kind," said this austere young judge. "And I've found out another thing by myself. You love ten times as much when you have served with hands and feet as well as brain. ”
