In the presence of a girl that pleased him, there would rise in him a poetic atmosphere, full of a rainbow kind of glamour, which, first possessing himself, passed out from him and called up a similar atmosphere, a similar glamour, about many of the girls he talked to.

This he could no more help than the grass can help smelling sweet after the rain.
Tom was a finely projected, well-built, unfinished, barely furnished house, with its great central room empty, where the devil, coming and going at his pleasure, had not yet begun to make any great racket.
There might be endless embryonic evil in him, but Letty was aware of no repellent atmosphere about him, and did not shrink from his advances.
He pleased her, and why should she not be pleased with him?
Was it a fault to be easily pleased?
The truer and sweeter any human self, the readier is it to be pleased with another self--save, indeed, something in it grate on the moral sense: that jars through the whole harmonious hypostasy.

To Tom, therefore, Letty responded with smiles and pleasant words, even grateful to such a fine youth for taking notice of her small self.
The sun had set in a bank of cloud, which, as if he had been a lump of leaven to it, immediately began to swell and rise, and now hung dark and thick over the still, warm night.

Even the farmers were unobservant of the change: their crops were all in, they had eaten and drunk heartily, and were merry, looking on or sharing in the multiform movement, their eyes filled with light and color.
Suddenly came a torrent-sound in the air, heard of few and heeded by none, and straight into the hall rushed upon the gay company a deluge of rain, mingled with large, half-melted hail-stones.

In a moment or two scarce a light was left burning, except those in the holes and recesses of the walls.