"Come," he said, with a burst of beneficence, "you are beginning to understand me."
She jerked a swift glance at him, like the look of a half-tamed falcon.
"You are a man, for all your sneers and vapourings."
"I had a heart once. Call me an oak, broken, twisted, aged, but an oak still."
Yeoland drew quite close to him, so that her skirt almost brushed his horse's flank. Fulviac's shadow fell athwart her. Only her face shone clear in the moonlight.
"I have ceased," she said, "to look upon life as a stretch of blue, a laughing dawn."
"Good."
"I have learnt that woe is the crown of years."
"Good again."
"That life is full of violence and wrong."