All about those white ankles and those white knees the greenness of the earth gathered⁠—the greyness of the sky descended. It was as if such vague nonhuman powers, made up of green shadows and grey shadows, drew the girl back and away⁠—back and away from all his human words, back and away from all his personal desires.

Commonplace and irrelevant seemed both his sentiment and his cunning in the face of these two great silent Presences⁠—that of the earth and that of the sky⁠—which were closing in upon her and upon himself.

But it was getting too cold. He must make her put on her things and come home.

“That’s enough now,” he said. “On with your stockings, like a good girl. I don’t know when your people expect you back; but anyhow I mustn’t keep Mrs. Otter waiting.”

He took her by the wrist and pulled her up the bank. Then he began vigorously rubbing her ice-cold ankles with his hands.