Up from the solitary street of the slate-roofs, she mounted a big hill and had the life of high breathing.

A perpetual escape out of the smoky, grimy city mazes was trumpeted to her in the winds up there: a recollected contrast lightened the skyless broad spaces overhead almost to sunniness.

Having air of the hills and activity for her limbs, she made sunshine for herself.

Regrets were at no time her nestlings.
Look backward only to correct an error of conduct for the next attempt, says one of her father's Maxims; as sharply bracing for women as for men.

She did not look back to moan.