It is paralysing to the imagination." "Then I won't, dear.

But oh, if you could only describe it as it is! The ruined chateaux, tree-embosomed----" Momma paused.
"The gray church spires, from which at eventide the Angelus comes pealing--or stealing," she continued.

"Perhaps 'stealing' is better." "Above all the poplars--the poplars are very characteristic, dear.

And the women toilers in the sunset fields garnering up the golden grain.
You might exclaim, 'Why are they always in blue ?' Have you got that down ?" "They were making hay," poppa corrected.

"But I suppose the public won't know the difference, any more than you did." Momma leaned forward, clasping her smelling-bottle, and looked out of the window with a smile of exaltation.
"The cows," she went on, "the proud-legged Norman cows standing knee-deep in the quiet pools.