She NEVER saw anything like the gowns Mrs.Jones wore; Mrs.Jones touched upon the impossible feathers of Mrs.Smith's hat, and Mrs.Smith in turn questioned the exquisite complexion of Mrs.Green, who thought Mrs.White's children the homeliest in the city.

(Can't you hear the dominoes going down ?) The men nodded here and there, briefly.

Saturday night in a provincial town holds many recollections.
The high church was a stately pile of granite, with lofty spire and fine memorial windows.

Doves fluttered about the eaves.

Upon this particular Sunday morning there seemed to be something in the air that was not a component part of any of the elements.