Harry did not dream that he had passed the doors of Pendleton Academy for the last time, as a student.
While the seniors were quiet, there was no lack of noise from the younger lads.

Snowballs flew and the ends of red comforters, dancing in the wind, touched the white world with glowing bits of color.

Harry looked at them with a sort of pity.

The magnified emotions of youth had suddenly made him feel very old and very responsible.

When a snowball struck him under the ear he paid no attention to it, a mark of great abstraction in him.
He and his cousin walked gravely on, and left the shouting crowd behind them.