He ran a race with it to the wall which bounded the top of the quarry.

The exercise did him good, driving from his mind shadows which had clung about it in the night.

Beaching the wall he rested his arms upon it, and looked over Dunfield to the glory of the rising sun.

The smoke of the mill-chimneys, thickening as fires were coaled for the day's work, caught delicate reflection from the sky; the lofty spire of the church seemed built of some beautiful rose-hued stone.

The grassy country round about wore a fresher green than it was wont to show; the very river, so foul in reality with the refuse of manufactures, gleamed like a pure current.
Dagworthy's eyes fixed themselves on the horizon, and grew wide with the sense of things half understood.
The dog had left him and was gone round into the quarry.