resounding phrases:

"Break his bands of sleep asunder,
And rouse him like a rattling peal of thunder!"

But Corydon had never heard of Timotheus, and she had not been
taught to exploit her emotions. She could only say that she did not
understand it very well.

And then, on another occasion, Thyrsis endeavored to tell her about
Berkeley, whom he had been reading. But Corydon did not take to the
sensational philosophy either; she would come back again and again
to the evasion of old Dr. Johnson--"When I kick a stone, I know the
stone is there!"

This girl was like a beautiful flower, Thyrsis told himself--like
all the flowers that had gone before her, and all those that would
come after, from generation to generation. She fitted so perfectly
into her environment, she grew so calmly and serenely; she wore
pretty dresses, and helped to serve tea, and was graceful and
sweet--and with never an idea that there was anything in life beyond
these things. So Thyrsis pondered as he went his way, complacent
over his own perspicacity; and got not even a whiff of smoke from
the volcano of rebellion and misery that was seething deep down in
her soul!

The choosers of the unborn souls had played a strange fantasy here;
they had stolen one of the daughters of ancient Greece, and set her
down in this metropolis of commercialdom. For Corydon might have
been Nausikaa herself; she might have marched in the Panathenaic