She needed no great pressing; she had a feeling that every hour was precious, that it was unsafe to lose a single one of them: a foreboding that she and Antony might not be together long.

It almost seemed that a like foreboding weighed on him.

At times they seemed almost feverish in their desire to wring the last drop of sweetness out of the swiftly flying hour.
After lunch again the thought came to her that she ought to go back to the Castle, that she might be needed, and missed; but it found no expression.

She could not tear herself away.

She had been denied joy too long, and it was intoxicating.
It was five o'clock before she left the Pavilion.