It was not likely that he ever would speak to her again.

The princess was a poem, unlettered and unrhymed.

But here, close to him, was a bit of beautiful material prose.

The hair again blew out toward him and he moved his lips.

She heard the vague sound and lifted her head.
Far away came the call of the sentry; a horse whinneyed in the stables.
There was in the air the odor of an approaching storm..