It was a beautiful bush, spreading very widely, and all the time she had sat there talking she had been noticing the patches of shade and the shape of the leaves, and the way the great white flowers sat in the midst of the green.

She had noticed it half-consciously, nevertheless the pattern had become part of their talk.

She laid down her sewing, and began to walk up and down the garden, and Hirst rose too and paced by her side.

He was rather disturbed, uncomfortable, and full of thought.

Neither of them spoke.
The sun was beginning to go down, and a change had come over the mountains, as if they were robbed of their earthly substance, and composed merely of intense blue mist.