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What his real name was nobody knew, but he said that he was called Battersea, after the parish in which he had been reared as a foundling. "From a motive of jealousy?" "Well," said Jen, after a pause, "that is not improbable. But the perfume?".
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Conrad
Miss Jinny, at the sight of Patricia fluttering in among them in her white gauzy draperies like some dainty moth, held out a reproving finger. "You expected to be hanged?" suggested Jen. If Tom Pollard wasn't my own first cousin I would have loved him desperately, even if I am a week older than he. He was about the only oasis in my childhood's days, though I don't think anybody would think of calling him at all green. He never stopped coming to see me occasionally, and Mr. Carter liked him. He was the first man to notice the white ruche I sewed in the neck of my old black silk four or five months ago, and he let me see that he noticed it out of the corner of his eyes as we were coming out of church, under Aunt Adeline's very elbow. They crowded to the big window, and saw, through the wet flicker of tiny sprouting leaves, a wind-swept sky with racing clouds and brilliant stars blazing in the dark, serene spaces between the hurrying masses of billowy vapor..
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