Maurice

He had stopped loving Maurice and should have to say so plainly.

Clive pulled him back into themselves. He murmured something about Eternity in an hour: Maurice did not understand, but the voice soothed him.

And their love scene drew out, having the inestimable gain of a new language. No tradition overawed the boys. No convention settled what was poetic, what absurd; They were concerned with a passion that few English minds have admitted, and so created untrammelled. Something of exquisite beauty arose in the mind of each at last, something unforgettable and eternal, but built of the humblest scraps of speech and from the simplest emotions.

“I say, will you kiss me?” asked Maurice, when the sparrows woke in the eaves above them, and far out in the woods the ring-doves began to coo. Clive shook his head, and smiling they parted, having established perfection in their lives, at all events for a time.