Then she stands there with her hands crossed on her glorious throat, her red, wet lips ajar.

She stands there, apart, yet united to me, and her heart on her lips.
She has covered her bosom again.

The breeze is suddenly gusty.

The apple trees in the orchards are shaken and scatter bird-like jetsam in space; and in that bright green paddock yonder the rows of out-hung linen dance in the sunshine.

The sky darkens; the wind rises and prevails.