Everything rushed along in living beside him; everything was still, perfect in itself, along with him.

This wonderful stillness in each thing in itself, while it was being borne along in a very ecstasy of living, seemed the highest point of bliss.
And Clara knew this held him to her, so she trusted altogether to the passion.

It, however, failed her very often.

They did not often reach again the height of that once when the peewits had called.

Gradually, some mechanical effort spoilt their loving, or, when they had splendid moments, they had them separately, and not so satisfactorily.