He marked how the sunshine was spun into the fair shadows of her hair and seemed itself to catch a lustre, rather than to impart it, and the light of the June day drifted through the gauzy hat, touching her face with a delicate and tender flush that came and went like the vibrating pink of early dawn.

She had the divinest straight nose, tip-tilted the faintest, most alluring trifle, and a dimple cleft her chin, "the deadliest maelstrom in the world!" He thrilled through and through.

He had been only vaguely conscious of the dimple in the night.

It was not until he saw her by daylight that he really knew it was there.
The village hummed with life before them.

They walked through shimmering airs, sweeter to breathe than nectar is to drink.