A few shocks of corn in a corner of the fallow stood up as if alive; she imagined them bowing; perhaps her son would be a Joseph.

In the east, a mirrored sunset floated pink opposite the west's scarlet.

The big haystacks on the hillside, that butted into the glare, went cold.
With Mrs.Morel it was one of those still moments when the small frets vanish, and the beauty of things stands out, and she had the peace and the strength to see herself.

Now and again, a swallow cut close to her.
Now and again, Annie came up with a handful of alder-currants.

The baby was restless on his mother's knee, clambering with his hands at the light.
Mrs.Morel looked down at him.