The liquid shadows went over the plain.
The body after long illness is languid, passive, receptive of sweetness, but too weak to contain it.

The tears well and fall as the dog barks in the hollow, the children skim after hoops, the country darkens and brightens.

Beyond a veil it seems.

Ah, but draw the veil thicker lest I faint with sweetness, Fanny Elmer sighed, as she sat on a bench in Judges Walk looking at Hampstead Garden Suburb.

But the dog went on barking.