When A Man Is Overcome By Anger,

She Did Not Know That This Was The Best Thing She Could Have Done, And She Did Not Know That, When She Began To Walk Quickly Or Even Run Along The Paths And Down The Avenue, She Was Stirring Her Slow Blood And Making Herself Stronger By Fighting With The Wind Which Swept Down From The Moor.

That's What I Look At Some People For. I Like To Know About Them. I Think Them Over Afterward.

Their Eyes Met With A Singular Directness Of Gaze. Between Them A Spark Passed Which Was Not Afterwards To Be Extinguished, Though Neither Of Them Knew The Moment Of Its Kindling.

Imagine, If You Can, What The Rest Of The Evening Was Like. How They Crouched By The Fire Which Blazed And Leaped And Made Much Of Itself In The Little Grate. How They Removed The Covers Of The Dishes, And Found Rich, Hot Savory Soup, Which Was A Meal In Itself, And Sandwiches And Toast And Muffins Enough For Both Of Them.

The Robin Flew From His Swinging Spray Of Ivy On To The Top Of The Wall And He Opened His Beak And Sang A Loud, Lovely Trill, Merely To Show Off. Nothing In The World Is Quite As Adorably Lovely As A Robin When He Shows Off - And They Are Nearly Always Doing It.