. Tell me a story—with apple-blossoms in it—about people who are happy. “Of course,” said Miss Miniver—she went on in a regularly undulating voice —“we DO please men. And she was about as capable of intelligent argument as a runaway steam-roller. . The air was sweet with the smoky perfume of myrrh, hazy and dense with incense. She twanged the catgut under her fingers. But she made no answer. Anna saw it, and for the first time found herself trembling. The call of youth to youth, and we name it love for want of something better: a glamorous, evanescent thing "like snow upon the desert's dusty face, lighting a little hour or two, was gone. " The clock tinkled ten.
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