“I suppose I fell in love with her, Ann Veronica. The back of the house had been the Alps for climbing, and the shrubs in front of it a Terai. The mother was far more real to her than the father; the ghostly far more substantial than the living form. "Come to me!" cried the poor maniac, who had crawled as far as the chain would permit her,—"come to me!" she cried, extending her thin arm towards him. This obstacle removed, he thought he might now make the attempt. “After all,” he said, “I am not sure that you are not a very material person.
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