More birds calling from the trees, and you didn't know what any of em was.
He sat silently with his head cocked back, a brooding astronomer.
This was not insipid, singleword talk of drummerboys.
Her voice was flat and a little hard.
Well he's sixtyfive, if he's a day, yet you'd have thought they were a pair of young turtledoves, to see them, arm in arm, and kissing at the gate: yes, an' she sitting on his knee right in the bay window on Pye Croft Road, for anybody to see.
Later in the afternoon, he deliberately launched out from shore on the log.
Back in the rifle pit Jed and I were heroes.
It was as though the will, blind and uncontrollable, shone through the creation, exposing the monster which it is.