QUOTE : Of course, in Switzerland she had been bitterly unhappy. The nagging homesickness had returned, mixed with loneliness for Marco. There had been letters and telegrams from him at every stopping place. Sometimes, falling asleep in strange hotels, she had thought again that she was mistaken, that she did love him after all. There was every reason in the world why she should, and it would be so easy to write and tell him so! She had imagined his overflowing happiness on receiving her letter. He would probably join her, she had thought; they would see Paris together, she would give up London and they would go home to be married. But there, somehow, her imagination had always rebelled. Something inside you told you when you didn't love a person, just as...something...told you when you did, even though he was thousands of miles away and you could hardly bear to think about him because you'd probably lost him.