The pink and white hyacinths were strongly scented in the warm air.

He turned round.
She said demurely: 'It will be nice weather for you to go away now, won't it ?' 'I don't think so.' He spoke impulsively.

'I shall hate it; I shall be miserable.' 'Really!' in a tone of great surprise.
'You're dying to ask me something,' he said.
'Which am I dying to ask you: _where_ you're going, or _why_ you're going ?' She gave her most vivid smile.

He sat down with a sigh.

People still sigh, sometimes, even nowadays.
'I don't know where I'm going; but I'll tell you why....