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Are we not acceptable, moon? Are we not lovely sitting together here, I in my satin; he in black and white?

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I should never be able to fulfill what is,I understand, the first duty of a lecturer-to hand you after an hour's discourse a nugget of pure truth to w...more

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For they might be parted for hundreds of years, she and Peter; she never wrote a letter and his were dry sticks; but suddenly it would come over her, ...more

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Milly Brush once might almost have fallen in love with these silences.

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This was a favourite dress, one of Sally Parker's, the last almost she ever made, alas, for Sally had now retired, living at Ealing, and if ever I hav...more

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and it was the moment between six and seven when every flower-roses, carnations, irises, lilac-glows; white, violet, red, deep orange; every flower se...more

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They all dreamt of each other that night, as was natural, considering how thin the partitions were between them, and how strangely they had been lifte...more

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Among the tortures and devastations of life is this then—our friends are not able to finish their stories.

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It partook ... of eternity ... there is a coherence in things, a stability; something, she meant, is immune from change, and shines out (she glanced a...more