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Rouletta's wet skirts slatted about her ankles as she ran; it was a windy, chilly night, and, in spite of the fact that it was a steep climb to the top of the low bluff, she was chilled to the bone when she came panting into the sprawling cluster of habitations that formed the temporary town of White Horse.
Hence the protracted conversations are as a rule amazingly windy and pointless, as the protracted descriptions are amazingly useless and tedious. And the superhuman virtues of the characters are not shown in the poem so much as energetically asserted.
Indeed, what mortal is there of us, who would find his satisfaction enhanced by an opportunity of comparing the picture he presents to himself of his own doings, with the picture they make on the mental retina of his neighbours? We are poor plants buoyed up by the air-vessels of our own conceit: alas for us, if we get a few pinches that empty us of that windy self-subsistence!
Addison and I took turns rushing outside to cut wood from dry spruces to keep the stove hot. A little later, as I came in with an armful, I found Addison watching Tom. "Sh!" he said. "He's asleep." The afternoon was waning; a cold, windy night was coming on. "What shall we do?" Addison whispered in perplexity. "I don't believe we ought to take him out; his clothes aren't dry yet.
It renewed his dread to hear of the projected journey, and made him see, as in a shadowy vision, Domini Enfilden's figure disappearing into the windy desolation of the desert protected by the living mystery he hated. Yes, at this moment, he no longer denied it to himself.
But it is as the last land in England that we cross this windy moorland to reach the sea; and beyond, visible on days of rare clearness, lie the Fortunate Isles of our dreams.
So we call this place the Windy Hill." The three set off on their errand very gayly in the big car, although Polly and Janet, in the back seat together, were a little shy and silent at the very first. At the end of a mile, however, they were beginning to warm toward each other and had set up a brisk chatter before they had gone three. "I knew Janet would like Polly," Oliver was thinking.
"We were speaking of motives," said Cecil, on whom the interruption jarred. "My dear Cecil, look here." She spread out her knees and perched her card-case on her lap. "This is me. That's Windy Corner. The rest of the pattern is the other people. Motives are all very well, but the fence comes here." "We weren't talking of real fences," said Lucy, laughing. "Oh, I see, dear poetry."
And he who did this thing, the unspeakable oxeye with his black and yellow breast "catanic black and amber" even while I made my lamentation was tinkling his merry song overhead in the windy elms.
"A sort of windy, crying voice," he calls it, "as of something lonely and untamed, wild and of abominable power...." And, even before it ceased, dropping back into the great gulfs of silence, the guide beside him had sprung to his feet with an answering though unintelligible cry.
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