The quality, whatever it was, that the last fortnight had generated in her, leaped from her fingers; she played with triumph, elation, intention.

The notes seemed an outlet for the sense of beauty and for power to make it.

I had never heard her play like that before.
It occurred to me to ask when she had done, how far, after a fortnight, she could throw light on Armour's aims and history, where he had come from, and the great query with which we first received him, what he could be doing in Simla.

I gathered that she had learned practically nothing, and had hardly concerned herself to learn anything.

What difference did it make?
she asked me.