Give me that little parcel and your gloves.

Your poor shoes!" They stood perched on the face of the declivity, under the trees.
"Well, I'll go again," he said.
Away he went, slipping, staggering, sliding to the next tree, into which he fell with a slam that nearly shook the breath out of him.

She came after cautiously, hanging on to the twigs and grasses.

So they descended, stage by stage, to the river's brink.

There, to his disgust, the flood had eaten away the path, and the red decline ran straight into the water.