The warmth was Clara's breathing heaving.
He lifted his head, and looked into her eyes.

They were dark and shining and strange, life wild at the source staring into his life, stranger to him, yet meeting him; and he put his face down on her throat, afraid.
What was she?
A strong, strange, wild life, that breathed with his in the darkness through this hour.

It was all so much bigger than themselves that he was hushed.

They had met, and included in their meeting the thrust of the manifold grass stems, the cry of the peewit, the wheel of the stars.
When they stood up they saw other lovers stealing down the opposite hedge.

It seemed natural they were there; the night contained them.
And after such an evening they both were very still, having known the immensity of passion.