“‘Wouldn’t you think that was it?’ ‘No,’ he said. Her face, underneath a little hat of striped brown and white fur, was like that of a pretty tigress that did not smile. ‘But don’t they have them at Oxford?’ she said. ‘Isn’t it one of those things there?’ ‘How can having them at Oxford possibly have anything to do with it?’ he said. ‘I don’t know. I just thought,’ she said. As the train rushed forward into spring twilight I could see, everywhere on the rainy green cuttings, pale eyes of primrose...s winking up from among parallel reflections of carriage lights. Above and beyond the cuttings many apple orchards were in thick wide pink bloom. ‘Then what is it you don’t like about them?’ she said. ‘In the first place they’re messy. They’re not like pansies,’ he said. ‘They don’t have the flower on a stem. That’s what repulses me. They’re messy.’ ‘Repulses,’ she said. ‘What a word.’ His hair, a weak brandy brown, was shredded like tobacco into short separated curls that hung untidily down over the fiery flesh of his neck.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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