[…] if I bid you do what you thought wrong, there would be no light-footed running, no neat-handed alacrity, no lively glance and animated complexion.

Mister Rainey , the good man with a name like a grey day , his pale face the colour of a Novemberly sky...

She is elegant on sky-high heels in spite of the rubble and the cracks in the paving.

The good green-wood! the good green-wood! / Where early violets spring, / Where 'mid the old oak's giant boughs / The merle and mavis sing, […] My dreams are of sweet music wild / Beneath the green-wood tree!