it is in such wise that memory plays its prank for good or ill; for pleasure or pain ; for weal or woe. It is thus that life is bitter-sweet, and that which has done become eternal.
Again, the light skiff, ceasing to shoot through the lazy water as when the oars flashed and dripped,glided out of the fierce july sunlight into the cool shade of the great drooping willow branchesÂ
Standing up in the swaying boat, she sitting still and with deft fingers guarding herself from stray twigs or the freedom of the resilience of moving boughs. Again, the water looked golden-brown under the canopy of translucent green; and the grassy bank was of emerald hue.