She talked almost incessantly.

She was positively garrulous.

She talked about the fine day that it was, about the queer new forage caps of the soldiers, about the bare green hills of the Reservation, about the little cemetery they passed just beyond the limits of the barracks, about a rabbit she saw, and about the quail they both heard whistling and calling in the hollows under the bushes.
Condy walked at her side in silence, yet no less happy than she, smoking his pipe and casting occasional glances at a great ship--a four-master that was being towed out toward the Golden Gate.

At every moment and at every turn they noted things that interested them, and to which they called each other's attention.
"Look, Blix!" "Oh, Condy, look at that!" They were soon out of the miniature city of the Post, and held on down through the low reach of tules and sand-dunes that stretch between the barracks and the old red fort.
"Look, Condy!" said Blix.

"What's that building down there on the shore of the bay--the one with the flagstaff ?" "I think that must be the lifeboat station." "I wonder if we could go down and visit it.