He would forgive a murderer, but never a liar." "My dear Leslie," she said, "as a friend--and a relative--" "Neither counts," he interrupted.

"I am a politician." She sat quite still, looking away from him.

The peaceful noises from the village street found their way into the room.

A few cows were making their leisurely mid-day journey towards the pasturage, a baker's cart came rattling round the corner.

The west wind was rustling in the elms, bending the shrubs upon the lawn almost to the ground.