It was almost like the hither and thither of a leaf that comes unexpected.

Most of herself went with him.

By the way she leaned forward, as if listening, Mrs.Morel could see she was possessed elsewhere as she talked, and again the elder woman was sorry for her.
Having finished, he strolled down the garden, leaving the two women to talk.

It was a hazy, sunny afternoon, mild and soft.

Clara glanced through the window after him as he loitered among the chrysanthemums.
She felt as if something almost tangible fastened her to him; yet he seemed so easy in his graceful, indolent movement, so detached as he tied up the too-heavy flower branches to their stakes, that she wanted to shriek in her helplessness.
Mrs.Morel rose.
"You will let me help you wash up," said Clara.
"Eh, there are so few, it will only take a minute," said the other.
Clara, however, dried the tea-things, and was glad to be on such good terms with his mother; but it was torture not to be able to follow him down the garden.