There they are! he thought. Do what you like with them, Clarissa!
There they are! And second by second it seemed to him that the wife
of the Major
in the Indian Army (his Daisy) and her two small children
became more and more lovely as Clarissa
looked at them; as if he had set light to a grey pellet on a
plate and there had risen up a lovely tree in the brisk sea-salted
air of their intimacy (for in some ways no one understood him, felt
with him, as Clarissa did) -- their exquisite intimacy.