“Isn’t it beautiful!” said Mrs. Morel, looking round.
“See that heron — see — see her legs?”
He directed his mother, what she must see and what not. And she was quite content.
“But now,” she said, “which way? He told me through the wood.”
The wood, fenced and dark, lay on their left.
“I can feel a bit of a path this road,” said Paul. “You’ve got town feet, somehow or other, you have.”