I wish I were dead, or that it were tomorrow night,' groaned Phil.
God's in His heaven, alls right with the world', whispered Anne softly.
When I make up my mind to do a thing it stays made up.
A house isn't a home without the ineffable contentment of a cat with its tail folded about its feet. A cat gives mystery, charm, suggestion.
Secrets are generally terrible. Beauty is not often hidden — only ugliness and deformity.
Anne always remembered the silvery, peaceful beauty and fragrant calm of that night. It was the last night before sorrow touched her life; and no life is ever quite the same again when once that cold, sanctifying touch has been laid upon it.