214 A GARDEN DIARY 
the clock across the valley are almost the only 
sounds that break in upon our stillness, for the 
birds sing very little just now. It has been a 
most strange fortnight; curiously unreal; extra- 
ordinarily dreamy and spectral-like. One by one 
its days have slipped by, very, very slowly, yet 
now that they are almost gone I say to myself— 
“ How terribly swiftly!” 
