Already his inarticulateness was like an encumbering veil between them--a veil in which she struggled as helplessly as a moth in a net.

And only a month ago she had believed that the very immensity of his nature rendered him dumb.
"Then you had better hurry, dear.

Dinner is at eight, and you have only a minute." "You go down and tell them not to wait.

I was detained downtown, but it won't take me a second to dress." As he passed under the electric light by the mirror, she saw his face with exaggerated distinctness, as if it were held under a microscope, and a heaviness, which she had never noticed before, marred the edge of his profile.

If he hadn't been George, would she have said that he looked stupid at the moment?
For a flashing instant of illumination she saw him with a vision that was not her own, but a stranger's, with a pitiless clearness unsoftened by any passion.