But this morning he wanted to get up quickly and find her.

Perhaps her absence had made him feel more insecure, but there had also been something that night, something in her face, something in the touch of her hand.
And the other thing that he realised was that summer had truly come.
He knew at once that hot smell that pressed even through the closed window-panes of his room; the bars and squares of light on the floor when he jumped out of bed and stood upon them seemed to burn the soles of his feet, and the rays of light on the ceiling quivered as only summer sunlight can quiver.

The two windows of his bedroom looked back behind Polchester over fields and hedges to a dim purple line of wood.

A tiny stream ran through the first two fields, and this little river was shining now with a white hot light that had yet the breeze of the morning ruffling it.

He ran to his window and opened it.