"I'm afraid to think--afraid of actual thoughts.

Don't let us give form to anything.
Let me be content to just feel this new warmth in my life." She leaned back in her chair with a contented sigh.

A little tug came snorting up the river.

Even the roar of the traffic over Waterloo Bridge seemed muffled and disintegrated by the breeze which swept on its way through the rustling lime trees.
"You are wonderfully situated here," she went on.

"I don't believe it is London at all.