He lowered his eyes from the cathedral to her happy, flushed face.
"Pippa," he said, "you are as old as Cleopatra."
"Cleo-patra. How many years has she?"
"Oh, about two thousand."
She pretended to be offended, and ended by looking such a thoroughly engaging little figure, with her dark hair and innocently intriguing eyes, that the airman resumed his study of architecture from sheer self-defense, and the Australian contemplated the odds against his knocking the student of cathedrals on the head, and, à la caveman of old, eloping forcibly with the damsel.
Chimney-pots! Hundreds of them—thousands of them.
Chimney-pots! Standing like regiments in stiff and orderly array, waiting for a review that never took place.
Chimney-pots! Short ones, stout ones, crumbling ones; gray, blue, and indigo ones; pots of no color at all, and just as little character.
Chimney-pots! Racing by, mile after mile; industrious fellows, some of them, puffing out black smoke as though the mist over London were their private and personal concern.
Chimney-pots!