Her acting, apart from her voice, does not please me.

It seems to me to want intelligence of the subtler feelings, the under-current of emotion which constitutes the chief beauty of the situation and the character.

Am I jealous when I say this?
Read on and judge.
On our return that night, when I had seen the Venosta to bed, I went into my own room, opened the window, and looked out.

A lovely night, mild as in spring at Florence,--the moon at her full, and the stars looking so calm and so high beyond our reach of their tranquillity.

The evergreens in the gardens of the villas around me silvered over, and the summer boughs, not yet clothed with leaves, were scarcely visible amid the changeless smile of the laurels.