I remembered the solitary scarlet dahlia that stood between us and the vast cold hills and held its colour when all was grey but that.

The hill world waited for the winter; down a far valley we could hear a barking deer.

Armour talked slowly, often hesitating for a word, of the joy there was in beauty and the divinity in the man who saw it with his own eyes.

I have read notable pages that brought conviction pale beside that which stole about the room from what he said.

The comment may seem fantastic, but it is a comment--I caressed the dog.