"How could I keep sane and collected! How could I write about anybody or anything in the world except you! The wind was blowing those little strands of hair over your face.

Your left arm was hanging down--so; why is an arm such a graceful thing, I wonder?
Your left knee was drawn up--you had been supporting a book against it and--" "I don't want to hear another word," Edith protested quickly.
He sighed.
"It took me about thirty seconds to get down," he murmured.

"You hadn't moved." "Shall we have tea out here or in the study ?" Edith asked.
"Anywhere so long as we escape from this," Burton replied, gazing across the lawn.

"What is it ?" A man was making his way from the house towards them, a man who certainly presented a somewhat singular appearance.

He was wearing a long linen duster, a motor-cap which came over his ears, and a pair of goggles which he was busy removing.