"I've never seen such a hand, it is like a spray of fern; and those eyes—look at me, Eve."
"Why do you call me Eve? No one ever called me Eve before."
"Sometimes they are as green as sea water, at other times they are grey or nearly grey, most often they are hazel green. And your feet are like hands, and your ankle—see, I can span it between forefinger and thumb.... Your hair is faint, like flowers. Your throat is too thick, you have the real singer's throat; thousands of pounds lie hidden in that whiteness, which is mine—the whiteness, not the gold."
"How you know how to praise, Owen!"
"I love that sweet indecision of chin."
"A retreating chin means want of character."
"You have not what I call a retreating chin, the line merely deflects. Nothing more unlovable than a firm chin. It means a hard, unimaginative nature. Eve, you're adorable. Where should I find a sweetheart equal to you?"
"That isn't the way I want you to love me."
"Isn't it? Are you sure of that?"
"I don't know—perhaps not. But why do you make me say these things?"