I had occasion the other day to speak severely to the pretty, marmalade cat that visits the vegetable garden sometimes, and sometimes our own garden at home. Knowing the way of cats, I was concerned about the blackbirds and their nest in the hedge. Whereas, there used to be some kind of acknowledgement, when I greeted her before, she now looks away when I say hullo. It serves me right, I suppose.
In the frame of an open window a woman sits in profile, like a picture in a frame.
Two girls, dressed with the intention of getting brown, greet each other in Calverley Park. Where's the sun?" asks one. "There," says the other pointing to the sun, which glares down from a blue sky, where you might expect it to be.