I wish I could not--not that it's the memory; but he seems all round me, up in the air, and when the trees move all together...you chase him away, my lover!" It was like a break in music, the way that Emilia suddenly closed her sentence; coming with a shock of flattering surprise upon Wilfrid.
Then she pursued: "My English lover! I am like Italy, in chains to that German, and you...but no, no, no! It's not quite a likeness, for my German is not a brute.

I have seen his picture in shop-windows: the wind seemed in his hair, and he seemed to hear with his eyes: his forehead frowning so.

Look at me, and see.

So!" Emilia pressed up the hair from her temples and bent her brows.
"It does not increase your beauty," said Wilfrid.
"There's the difference!" Emilia sighed mildly.

"He sees angels, cherubs, and fairies, and imps, and devils; or he hears them: they come before him from far off, in music.