It almost made her dizzy.
Mrs.Morel leaned on the garden gate, looking out, and she lost herself awhile.

She did not know what she thought.

Except for a slight feeling of sickness, and her consciousness in the child, herself melted out like scent into the shiny, pale air.

After a time the child, too, melted with her in the mixing-pot of moonlight, and she rested with the hills and lilies and houses, all swum together in a kind of swoon.
When she came to herself she was tired for sleep.

Languidly she looked about her; the clumps of white phlox seemed like bushes spread with linen; a moth ricochetted over them, and right across the garden.
Following it with her eye roused her.