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"I looked this over an' rode back all the way down Dry Creek. It's dead easy, Shandon." Already Ettinger visualised the cut deepened and widened here with flood gates to control the current. He spurred his horse up the bank as far as he could force the animal, then got down and scrambled on, gesticulating and talking swiftly. Shandon followed him.
And it was so kind to her that land of deep breaths and restoring breezes. It never shut her out. It always kept itself bigger and more wonderful than one could ever hope to fancy it. And the night she found the picture she knew that it was all really so. That was why it was so momentous a night. The picture was a dream visualised a dreamer vindicated.
One forgot, of course, that all the dreary figures were alive to them, and as Los Angeles spoke Rochester visualised. Next day I met an Englishman from the Soudan end of things, very full of a little-known railway which had been laid down in what had looked like raw desert, and therefore had turned out to be full of paying freight.
He thought of writing to her, but he could not bring himself to address her as usual, dearest Norah. He made up his mind to telegraph. Sorry. Could not get away, Philip. He visualised her. He was slightly repelled by the ugly little face, with its high cheekbones and the crude colour. There was a coarseness in her skin which gave him goose-flesh.
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