"And I suppose I feel about as young as you do, inside, but it won't be many years before I must begin to look old.

It does come!" She sighed, still smiling.

"It's seemed to me that, it must have been a happy summer for you--a real 'summer of roses and wine'-- without the wine, perhaps.

'Gather ye roses while ye may'-- or was it primroses?
Time does really fly, or perhaps it's more like the sky--and smoke--" George was puzzled.

"What do you mean: time being like the sky and smoke ?" "I mean the things that we have and that we think are so solid--they're like smoke, and time is like the sky that the smoke disappears into.