To her it seemed pregnant, auspicious; it drew something from the low grey lights of the wet spring afternoon and the unbound heart-lifting wind; she had a passionate prevision that the steps they took together would lead somehow to freedom.

They went on in that strange bound way, and the day drew away from them till they turned a sudden corner, when it lay all along the yellow sky across the river, behind a fringe of winter woods, stayed in the moment of its retreat on the edge of unvexed landscape.

They stopped involuntarily to look, and she saw a smile come up from some depth in him.
"Ah, well," he said, as if to himself, "it's something to be in a country where the sun still goes down with a thought of the primaeval." "I think I prefer the sophistication of chimney-pots," she replied.
"I've always longed to see a sunset in London, with the fog breaking over Westminster." "Then you don't care about them for themselves, sunsets ?" he asked, with the simplest absence of mind.
"I never yet could see the sun go down, But I was angry in my heart," she said, and this time he looked at her.
"How does it go on ?" he said.
"Oh, I don't know.

Only those two lines stay with me.

I feel it that way, too.