Her grace, her infinite tenderness, the purity of her, were all set…

The black moth night had come into the sky with his golden-spotted wings all spread.

He thanked God in his heart that he had plucked her blemishless from gradual death. It was even thus, he thought, that a good soldier should ride into Paradise bearing the soul of the woman he loved.

Men can love a tree, a cottage, a stream; Flavian loved Avalon as being the temple of the unutterable memories of the past.

She climbed out, and stood like a water nymph, her body agleam and asparkle with its dew, her skin like rare silk, smooth as a star's glance. Down fell her hair like smoke. She stretched her arms to the moon, and laughed, aglow with the …

He had reverted...to the little barbarisms of the struggling 'thirties, when he had scuffled with life in his shirt-sleeves.

She lay still awhile, and let her thoughts dance like the motes in the shimmer of sunlight that stole in between the branches.