Some of the leaves were clean yellow, like yellow flat flowers.
"Now sit still," he had cried.

"Now your hair, I don't know what it IS like! It's as bright as copper and gold, as red as burnt copper, and it has gold threads where the sun shines on it.

Fancy their saying it's brown.

Your mother calls it mouse-colour." She had met his brilliant eyes, but her clear face scarcely showed the elation which rose within her.
"But you say you don't like business," she pursued.
"I don't.

I hate it!" he cried hotly.
"And you would like to go into the ministry," she half implored.
"I should.