You can't lose your way, that is one blessing.

And it is not more than a hundred yards." With many mumbles and grumbles at his daughter's want of foresight, old McIntyre struggled into his great-coat and wrapped his scarf round his long thin throat.

A sharp gust of cold wind made the lamps flicker as he threw open the hall-door.

His two children listened to the dull fall of his footsteps as he slowly picked out the winding garden path.
"He gets worse--he becomes intolerable," said Robert at last.

"We should not have let him out; he may make a public exhibition of himself." "But it's Hector's last night," pleaded Laura.