As I stared into the gloom it seemed to me that there were patches of deeper darkness that might be woods.
'There is a house half-left in front of us,' said Peter.
I peered till my eyes ached and saw nothing.
'Well, for heaven's sake, guide me to it,' I said, and with Peter in front we set off down the hill.
It was a wild journey, for darkness clung as close to us as a vest.
Twice we stepped into patches of bog, and once my horse saved himself by a hair from going head forward into a gravel pit.

We got tangled up in strands of wire, and often found ourselves rubbing our noses against tree trunks.

Several times I had to get down and make a gap in barricades of loose stones.

But after a ridiculous amount of slipping and stumbling we finally struck what seemed the level of a road, and a piece of special darkness in front which turned out to be a high wall.
I argued that all mortal walls had doors, so we set to groping along it, and presently found a gap.

There was an old iron gate on broken hinges, which we easily pushed open, and found ourselves on a back path to some house.