That
beloved voice was making all my senses one.
'You leave all the talk to me,' she said. But as she looked in my
face her instinct told her why I could not talk. She knew that such
happiness and such bliss as mine carry the soul into a region where
spoken language is not.
Looking round me towards the left, where the mighty hollow of Cwm
Dyli was partly in sunshine and partly in shade, I startled Winnie by
suddenly calling out her name. My thoughts had left the happy dream
of Winifred's presence and were with Sinfi Lovell. As I looked at the
tall precipices rising from the chasm right up to the summit of
Snowdon, I recalled how Sinfi, notwithstanding her familiarity with
the scene, appeared to stand appalled as she gazed at the jagged
ridges of Crib-y-Ddysgyl, Crib Goch, Lliwedd, and the heights of Moel
Siabod beyond. I recalled how the expression of alarm upon Sinfi's
features had made me almost see in the distance a starving girl
wandering among the rocks, and this it was that made me now exclaim
'Winnie!' With this my lost power of speech returned.
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