She stopped dead; and the look in her eyes showed plainly she’d just received the import of a crude lesson in economics. Pavane (1968)
A death was more than an ending; it was like pulling a thread from a richly patterned cloth. Pavane (1968)
The years had a way of piling themselves one atop the next, unnoticed and uncounted; that was how young men turned into old ones. Pavane (1968)
The waves were indifferent, and the wind; and the rocks neither knew nor cared who owned them, Christ’s Vicar or an English King. Pavane (1968)