Hilda still held Odd’s hand: she stooped to stroke Arcite’s pensive head, giving the fox terriers a pat as they passed them.
“So you are fond of Chaucer?” Odd said. They crossed the gravel path and stepped on the lawn.
“Yes, indeed, he is my favorite poet. I have not read all, you know, but especially the Knight’s Tale.”
“That’s your favorite?”
“Yes.”
“And what is your favorite part of the Knight’s Tale?”
“The part where Arcite dies.”
“You like that?”
“Oh! so much; don’t you?”
“Very much; as much, perhaps, as anything ever written. There never was a more perfect piece of pathos. Perhaps you remember it.” He was rather curious to know how deep was this love for Chaucer.