Or, better still, sit down and tell us old stories about Egypt, and let us forget the age we live in.' 'What is amiss with the age ?' inquired Mr.Athel, who stood smoking a cigar and was in his wonted state of satisfaction with himself and the universe.
'Everything is amiss.

If you had been with me yesterday in a street I was visiting, not a quarter of a mile from home--But I'm going to forget all that now.

How deliciously warm it is here in the shade! I must have a hammock in our garden at Cowes.' 'When do you go back ?' Mr.Athel asked.
'In about a fortnight.

It has done mother no end of good; don't you think she looks remarkably well, Mrs.Rossall?
I'm afraid she finds it a little dull though.' When his father had returned to the house, Wilfrid sat en the grass and rested his head against the arm of the low garden chair in which Mrs.
Rossall was reclining.

The sound of a grass-cutter alone mingled with the light rustling of the trees.