And the beauty of it was, that he knew the agent did not really think it cheap; so that his own intuitive knowledge was a victory over the agent's.
'Cheap or not, I mean to have it,' he thought.
The larks sprang up in front of his feet, the air was full of butterflies, a sweet fragrance rose from the wild grasses.

The sappy scent of the bracken stole forth from the wood, where, hidden in the depths, pigeons were cooing, and from afar on the warm breeze, came the rhythmic chiming of church bells.
Soames walked with his eyes on the ground, his lips opening and closing as though in anticipation of a delicious morsel.

But when he arrived at the site, Bosinney was nowhere to be seen.

After waiting some little time, he crossed the warren in the direction of the slope.

He would have shouted, but dreaded the sound of his voice.
The warren was as lonely as a prairie, its silence only broken by the rustle of rabbits bolting to their holes, and the song of the larks.
Soames, the pioneer-leader of the great Forsyte army advancing to the civilization of this wilderness, felt his spirit daunted by the loneliness, by the invisible singing, and the hot, sweet air.