Winter lies too long in country towns; hangs on until it is stale and shabby, old and sullen.
I've seen it before. There are women who spread ruin through no fault of theirs, just by being too beautiful, too ful of life and love. They can't help it. Poeple come to them as people go to a warm fire in winter.
In a few hours one could cover that incalculable distance; from the winter country and homely neighbours, to the city where the air trembled like a tuning-fork with unimaginable possibilities.
The pale, cold light of the winter sunset did not beautify - it was like the light of truth itself.
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