Rose vines, cut to the roots, climb the higher.

No checking ever killed a passion.

Just now her inexperience was driving her into platitudes.
"Dear Garry," she said gently, "it is such happiness to talk to you like this; to know that you understand." There is a regulation forbidding prisoners to converse upon the subject of their misdemeanours, but neither he nor she seemed to be aware of it.
Moreover, she was truly convinced that no nun in cloister was as hopelessly certain of safety from world and flesh and devil as was her heart and its meditations, under the aegis of admitted wedlock.
She looked down at the ring she wore, and a faint shiver passed over her.
"You are going to Mrs.Ascott ?" "Yes, to make her a Trianon and a smirking little park.

I can't quarrel with my bread and butter, but I wish people would let these woods alone." She sat very still and thoughtful, hands clasped on her knee.
"So you are going to Mrs.Ascott," she repeated.

And, still thoughtful: "I am so fond of Alida Ascott....