Charnock's face was grim and somewhat pinched; his hands were torn and bruised.
He picked the heaviest stones to lift and was the first to take hold of ponderous beams.

Festing owned that he had misjudged Charnock, but not more than he had misjudged himself.

His farming had been a rash experiment and the contract a reckless gamble; the one threatened to end as badly as the other.

Then Bob had somehow kept his wife's love, and he, with senseless obstinacy, had estranged Helen.
His thoughts were depressing, but they drove him on.

Hope was dead; he had made a horrible mess of things.