He turned off the light with which he had first flooded it, for the flare of the street came feebly in through the summer leafage, and sat sensing the need of her as a thing to be handled and measured, a benumbing, suffocating presence.

As he sat, a sound of music floated by, and a thin pencil of light from a pleasure barge on the river flitted from window to window, travelling the gilt line of a picture-frame and the dark block of a picture that hung over his bed.
And as it touched in passing the high ramping figure of a knight in armour, the old magic worked.

He felt himself flung as it were across great distances, and dizzy with the turn, to her side.

He was there to maintain in the face of all worldly reckoning, the excluding, spiritual quality of their relation.

The more his engagement to Eunice Goodward failed of being the usual, the expected thing, the more authority it derived for its supernal sources.