It was Italy at the great moment--subtle, rich, exuberant.
Aldous enjoyed her pleasure.
"I thought you would like it; I hoped you would.

It has been my special delight since I was a child, when my mother first routed it out of a garret.

I am not sure that I don't in my heart prefer it to any of the pictures." "The flowers!" said Marcella, absorbed in it--"look at them--the irises, the cyclamens, the lilies! It reminds one of the dreams one used to have when one was small of what it would be like to have _flowers enough_.

I was at school, you know, in a part of England where one seemed always cheated out of them! We walked two and two along the straight roads, and I found one here and one there--but such a beggarly, wretched few, for all one's trouble.

I used to hate the hard dry soil, and console myself by imagining countries where the flowers grew like this--yes, just like this, in a gold and pink and blue mass, so that one might thrust one's hands in and gather and gather till one was really _satisfied_! That is the worst of being at school when you are poor! You never get enough of anything.