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really all the banalities about the ocean that one could realize, but if any one had told him then that these things were banalities, he would have gaped in wonder.
what a light touch Kerry had, and how he could transform the barest incident into a thing of curve and contour.
He had a sense of reality such as material things could never give him. His intellectual content seemed to submit passively to it, and it fitted like a glove everything that had ever preceded it in his life.
and the May birds hailed the sun on last night’s rain.
Amory wandered slowly up the avenue and thought of the night as inevitably his—the pageantry and carnival of rich dusk and dim streets . . . it seemed that he had closed the book of fading harmonies at last and stepped into the sensuous vibrant walks of life.
The afternoon waned from the purging good of three o’clock to the golden beauty of four.
