What was it up there in the song that seemed to be calling her back inside? What would happen now in the dim, incalculable hours?

Their lips brushed like young wild flowers in the wind.

She confused him and hindered the flow of his ideas. Self-expression had never seemed at once so desirable and so impossible.

Intermittently she caught the gist of his sentences and supplied the rest from her subconscious, as one picks up the striking of a clock in the middle with only the rhythm of the first uncounted strokes lingering in the mind.

She laughed with thrilling scorn. "Sophisticated-God, I'm sophisticated!

I won’t kiss you. It might get to be a habit and I can’t get rid of habits.

Riches have never fascinated me, unless combined with the greatest charm or distinction.