The sun had been shining for a fortnight. She could sit out all day now
in the garden.
It was nonsense to talk about time standing still if you kept on moving.
Just now, in the garden, when the light came through the thin green silk
leaves of the lime tree, for a moment, while she sat looking at the lime
tree, time stood still.
Catty had taken away the tea-things and was going down the four steps
into the house. It happened between the opening and shutting of the door.
She saw that the beauty of the tree was its real life, and that its real
life was in her real self and that her real self was God. The leaves and
the light had nothing to do with it; she had seen it before when the tree
was a stem and bare branches on a grey sky; and that beauty too was the
real life of the tree.