All aglow, this bright afternoon when two characters cross paths, blush, and entwine fates.  Impossible to have any intimation on such an afternoon that it could lead to disaster.  Only the writer senses it, and tries to warn the reader.

It would have done no good to warn the protagonists.

‘An afternoon in which destiny disguises her cold awful face behind a hazy radiant veil, encloses us in warm downy wings, and poisons us with violet-scented breath.’

Source: George Eliot, Adam Bede (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1985 (1859)), p. 175

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