The words we seek hang close to the tree.

We come at dawn and find them sweet beneath the leaf.
Mrs.Flanders wrote letters; Mrs.Jarvis wrote them; Mrs.Durrant too; Mother Stuart actually scented her pages, thereby adding a flavour which the English language fails to provide; Jacob had written in his day long letters about art, morality, and politics to young men at college.

Clara Durrant's letters were those of a child.

Florinda--the impediment between Florinda and her pen was something impassable.

Fancy a butterfly, gnat, or other winged insect, attached to a twig which, clogged with mud, it rolls across a page.