There was a gentle rustling of skirts. He was always word-building, a metaphorist, lavish with singing adjectives; but often he built in confusion because it was difficult to describe something beautiful in a new yet simple way. ” “Not now. That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise. ‘Where’s the sense in running away?’ ‘Doesn’t trust me,’ Gerald said briefly. I suppose I ought to have been a man. The south-east end of the island was hillocky, with volcanic subsoil. “How can you know?” “I think—perhaps I am rather a cold-blooded person. Finger to his lips, Gerald pointed in the direction of the noise.
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