And here the shoulder of a hill invited us to race up to the ridge: some way on we came to crossroads, careless of our luck in hitting the right one: yonder hung a village church in the air, and church-steeple piercing ever so high; and out of the heart of the mist leaped a brook, and to hear it at one moment, and then to have the sharp freezing silence in one's ear, was piercingly weird.

It all tossed the mind in my head like hay on a pitchfork.

I forgot the existence of everything but what I loved passionately,--and that had no shape, was like a wind.
Up on a knoll of firs in the middle of a heath, glowing rosy in the frost, we dismounted to lunch, leaning against the warm saddles, Temple and I, and Uberly, our groom, who reminded me of a certain tramp of my acquaintance in his decided preference of beer to champagne; he drank, though, and sparkled after his draught.

No sooner were we on horseback again--ere the flanks of the dear friendly brutes were in any way cool--than Temple shouted enthusiastically, 'Richie, we shall do it yet! I've been funking, but now I'm sure we shall do it.

Janet said, "What's the use of my coming over to dine at Riversley if Harry Richmond and you don't come home before ten or eleven o'clock ?" I told her we'd do it by dinner-time: Don't you like Janet, Richie ?--That is, if our horses' hic-haec-hocks didn't get strained on this hard nominative-plural-masculine of the article road.