The sick man lay as still as the dead.

It was rather like the picture of a scene than the reality; all were still and silent; and the stillness and silence were continuous.
Outside, in the distance I could hear the sounds of a city, the occasional roll of wheels, the shout of a reveller, the far-away echo of whistles and the rumbling of trains.

The light was very, very low; the reflection of it under the green-shaded lamp was a dim relief to the darkness, rather than light.

The green silk fringe of the lamp had merely the colour of an emerald seen in the moonlight.

The room, for all its darkness, was full of shadows.