"We're no distance from civilisation yet." He scrutinised his wife's painting.

Too polite to praise it openly, he contented himself with cutting off one half of the picture with one hand, and giving a flourish in the air with the other.
"God!" Hirst exclaimed, staring straight ahead.

"Don't you think it's amazingly beautiful ?" "Beautiful ?" Helen enquired.

It seemed a strange little word, and Hirst and herself both so small that she forgot to answer him.
Hewet felt that he must speak.
"That's where the Elizabethans got their style," he mused, staring into the profusion of leaves and blossoms and prodigious fruits.
"Shakespeare?
I hate Shakespeare!" Mrs.Flushing exclaimed; and Wilfrid returned admiringly, "I believe you're the only person who dares to say that, Alice." But Mrs.Flushing went on painting.

She did not appear to attach much value to her husband's compliment, and painted steadily, sometimes muttering a half-audible word or groan.
The morning was now very hot.
"Look at Hirst!" Mr.Flushing whispered.