Never any relaxing, never any leaving himself to the great hunger and impersonality of passion; he must be brought back to a deliberate, reflective creature.

As if from a swoon of passion she caged him back to the littleness, the personal relationship.

He could not bear it.

"Leave me alone--leave me alone!" he wanted to cry; but she wanted him to look at her with eyes full of love.

His eyes, full of the dark, impersonal fire of desire, did not belong to her.
There was a great crop of cherries at the farm.