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It might be an old and an old-fashioned city, with inconvenient buildings and narrow streets where the passersby squabbled foolishly about the right of way; but her foundations were set upon the holy hills and her spires touched heaven.
“I had one too,” said Miss Layton. “A beauty—about there being a reward in hell for women who went my way. So, acting on the suggestion given, I forwarded it to my future address by way of the fireplace.”
“Serve you right,” said Harriet. “If you must take your drink like a man, the least you can do is to carry it like a gentleman. It’s a great thing to know your own limitations.”
…Do you find it easy to get drunk on words?” “So easy that, to tell you the truth, I am seldom perfectly sober.
“Lord, teach us to take our hearts and look them in the face, however difficult it may be.”
But when blood is their argument, all argument is apt to be—merely bloody.”
She went to bed thinking more about another person than about herself. This goes to prove that even minor poetry may have its practical uses.
…Curious, thought Harriet, this desire to possess children and dictate their tastes, as though they were escaping fragments of one’s self, and not separate individuals.
Harriet was left to survey the kingdom of the mind, glittering from Merton to Bodley, from Carfax to Magdalen Tower. But her eyes were on one slight figure that crossed the cobbled Square, walking lightly under the shadow of St. Mary’s into the High. All the kingdoms of the world and the glory of them.
