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When Bascombe left for London in the morning, he carried with him the lingering rustle of silk, the odour of lavender, and a certain blueness, not of the sky, which seemed to have something behind it, as never did the sky to him.
For a long time they sat together, and looking far out over the vast expanse of dancing blueness, they spoke of life and the living of it. And both knew so little of either! It was a strange talk for the first one so subtly intimate, with its flashes of personality and freedom from conventions, that it seemed like a meeting of old friends, rather than of strangers.
His coat shone like satin, his legs were as fine as steel, and with exquisite relish he drew the carrots from their hands. The perspective of the hills was prolonged upon fading tints, and in the pale blueness the mares feeding in the paddocks grew strangely solitary and distinct; the trees about the coast towns were blended in shadow, and out of the first stars fell a quiet peace.
We had our breakfast the next morning on the same piazza where we had dined and where the early morning sun gave an entirely new aspect to the eternal blueness of the Achensee. Oh, you who have seen only Italian lakes, think not that you know blue when you see it, until you have seen the Achensee!
There was a curious, delicate blueness of the sky over which an infinitely more delicate veil of mist was softly drawn.
Kostolo, in addition to repeating outside the house his opinion regarding the blueness of the dead Boursier's nails, began, several days after the funeral, to brag to neighbours and friends of the warm relationship existing between himself and the widow. He dropped hints of a projected marriage.
So long as he remembered anything he remembered that passage through the park, the sweet smell of the wet grass, the waning splendors, russet and umber, of October leaves, the milky blueness of the autumn sky.
But the blueness of the sky is nothing but the dust of the planet floating deep around it, too light to sink through the atmosphere, but reflecting the rays of the sun. These rays fall on the clouds and color them. It would all have been so, had Man never been born.
The Mediterranean is a charming sea in summer, but in winter is a good deal like the Atlantic. The cause of the blueness of its water is not completely settled; but its sharing this color with Lake Geneva, which is tinged with detritus from the shore, might lead one to ascribe it to substances held in solution.
Was it not prophetic that on Sunday afternoon the following lines came to me while thinking of that poet? A smoke that delicately curled to heaven, Mingling its blueness with the infinite blue, So to the air the faded form was given, So unto fame the gentle spirit grew. And as Shelley and Keats are associated always together in my mind, immediately the Muse gave me this: KEATS
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