"Parson Dorrance said such a beautiful thing about him.

It was like music, like far off music," and she repeated it to Stephen.

"I wonder if I shall ever reach that cathedral," she added.
"Well, I've never reached it," said Stephen, "and I'm a good deal older than you.

I think two thirds of Wordsworth's poetry is imbecile, absolutely imbecile." Mercy was too much under the spell of Parson Dorrance's recent words to sympathize in this; but she had already learned to avoid dissent from Stephen's opinions, and she made no reply.

They were sitting on the edge of a great fissure in the mountain.