She came out of her reverie with a deep sigh and looked at him with the dreamy gaze of a soul that had been wondering afar , star-led . `` Oh , Mr. Cuthbert , '' she whispered , `` that place we came through -- that white place -- what was it ? '' `` Well now , you must mean the Avenue , '' said Matthew after a few moments ' profound reflection . `` It is a kind of pretty place . '' `` Pretty ? Oh , PRETTY does n't seem the right word to use . Nor beautiful , either . They do n't go far enough . Oh , it was wonderful -- wonderful . It 's the first thing I ever saw that could n't be improved upon by imagination . It just satisfies me here '' -- she put one hand on her breast -- `` it made a queer funny ache and yet it was a pleasant ache . Did you ever have an ache like that , Mr. Cuthbert ? '' `` Well now , I just ca n't recollect that I ever had . '' `` I have it lots of time -- whenever I see anything royally beautiful . But they should n't call that lovely place the Avenue . There is no meaning in a name like that . They should call it -- let me see -- the White Way of Delight . Is n't that a nice imaginative name ? When I do n't like the name of a place or a person I always imagine a new one and always think of them so . There was a girl at the asylum whose name was Hepzibah Jenkins , but I always imagined her as Rosalia DeVere .
Other people may XXXXX that place the Avenue , but I shall always call it the White Way of Delight .
's Is call came gaze imagine looked made use whispered