But that other world, in spite of her resolute exclusion of it, was always looking round corners and peeping through chinks and crannies, and rustling and raiding into the order in which she chose to live, shining out of pictures at her, echoing in lyrics and music; it invaded her dreams, it wrote up broken and enigmatical sentences upon the passage walls of her mind. They were really very fine and abundant, with a blaze of perennial sunflowers behind them. A stack of chimneys, on the house above them, had yielded to the storm, and descended in a shower of bricks and stones.
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