People do not whistle to amuse stones nor yet moss.

Farther off, on the other side of the street, the windows of the opposite houses stretched away in long straight lines, most of them standing open.
I thought: "The bird is somewhere there.

Some small Abigail with her white cap will look out in a moment." The suspicion was stupid and ill-natured.

How rash are our lightest judgments! Suddenly the school-boy took one step forward, swept his hand quickly along the moss as if he were trying to catch a fly, and ran off to his mother triumphant, delighted, beside himself, with an innocent gray lizard on the tips of his fingers.
"I've got him! I've got him! He was basking in the sun and I charmed him!" "Basking in the sun!" This was a revelation to me.

I flung up the window.