Closely stood together in a ring round the dome were Plato, Aristotle, Sophocles, and Shakespeare; the literature of Rome, Greece, China, India, Persia.

One leaf of poetry was pressed flat against another leaf, one burnished letter laid smooth against another in a density of meaning, a conglomeration of loveliness.
"One does want one's tea," said Miss Marchmont, reclaiming her shabby umbrella.
Miss Marchmont wanted her tea, but could never resist a last look at the Elgin Marbles.

She looked at them sideways, waving her hand and muttering a word or two of salutation which made Jacob and the other man turn round.

She smiled at them amiably.

It all came into her philosophy--that colour is sound, or perhaps it has something to do with music.