1 She to whom all's one now, summer or winter.
2 This dry summer the path was strewn with stones.
3 I mind me that, I to whom all's one now, summer or winter.
4 This dry summer the path was hard as brick across the fields.
5 Within the shell of the room she overlooked the summer night.
6 Flying, rushing through the ambient, incandescent, summer silent.
7 It was always shady; sun-flecked in summer, dark and damp in winter.
8 So they always said when in summer they sat there to drink coffee, if they had guests.
9 Pointz Hall was seen in the light of an early summer morning to be a middle-sized house.
10 It was a summer's night and they were talking, in the big room with the windows open to the garden, about the cesspool.
11 Every summer, for seven summers now, Isa had heard the same words; about the hammer and the nails; the pageant and the weather.
12 Every summer, for seven summers now, Isa had heard the same words; about the hammer and the nails; the pageant and the weather.
13 Their roots broke the turf, and among those bones were green waterfalls and cushions of grass in which violets grew in spring or in summer the wild purple orchis.
14 In the summer there were always butterflies; fritillaries darting through; Red Admirals feasting and floating; cabbage whites, unambitiously fluttering round a bush, like muslin milkmaids, content to spend a life there.
15 Digging and delving, the villagers sang passing in single file in and out between the trees, for the earth is always the same, summer and winter and spring; and spring and winter again; ploughing and sowing, eating and growing; time passes.
16 There he stood their representative spokesman; their symbol; themselves; a butt, a clod, laughed at by looking-glasses; ignored by the cows, condemned by the clouds which continued their majestic rearrangement of the celestial landscape; an irrelevant forked stake in the flow and majesty of the summer silent world.