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It is a drooping blackberry-leaf from a bush near where she is standing, that has turned from green into a warm and vivid crimson. She examines it minutely, as though lost in wonder at its excessive beauty, for beautiful exceedingly it is, clothed in the rich cloak that Autumn's generosity has flung upon it; yet I think, she for once is blind to its charms. Geoffrey, with his gun upon his shoulder, trudges steadily onward rejoicing in the freshness of the morning air. "I have disappointed you," she says, tremulously, tears rising quickly. "I am a failure! I am not like the others.".
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Conrad
"Yes. And after Shakspeare, I like him best, and then Longfellow. Why do you speak in that tone? Don't you like him?" All through the air the smell of heather, sweet and fragrant, reigns. Far down, miles away, the waves rush inland, glinting and glistening in the sunlight. "What's that?" asked Mona. "Don't speak of your mother as if she were a chromatic scale." The place she has chosen as her mirror is a still pool fringed with drooping grasses and trailing ferns that make yet more dark the sanded floor of the stream..
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