At other times I would have liked the place, but now it seemed to suffocate me.

The free moorlands were prison walls, and the keen hill air was the breath of a dungeon.
I tossed a coin--heads right, tails left--and it fell heads, so I turned to the north.

In a little I came to the brow of the ridge which was the containing wall of the pass.

I saw the highroad for maybe ten miles, and far down it something that was moving, and that I took to be a motor-car.

Beyond the ridge I looked on a rolling green moor, which fell away into wooded glens.
Now my life on the veld has given me the eyes of a kite, and I can see things for which most men need a telescope ...