It was the sort of thing one wants to get into a novel.

It was a lesson to me--in temperament, in point of view; I went with his mood, tried even to outdo him, in the hope of spurring him to outdo himself.

I only mention it because I did it so well that it led to extraordinary consequences.
We were walking up and down his lawn, in the twilight, after his Sunday supper.

The pale light shone along the gleaming laurels and dwelt upon the soft clouds of orchard blossoms that shimmered above them.

It dwelt, too, upon the silver streaks in his dark hair and made his face seem more pallid, and more old.