to possess one single thing (it is Louis now) must waver, like the light in and out of the beech leaves; and then words, moving darkly, in the depths of your mind will break up this knot of hardness, screwed in your pocket-handkerchief.

“Isa let her sewing drop. The great hooded chairs had become enormous. And Giles…”

“Yet it is true that there was an absent mindedness about her which sometimes ma…”

“It was love, she thought, love that never clutch its object; but, like the love…”

“So I have to create the whole thing afresh for myself each time. Probably all w…”