We had to crawl for hours on end, till we got past a block.

Just before the darkening we seemed to outstrip the first press, and had a clear run for about ten miles over a low pass in the hills.

I began to get anxious about the car, for it was a poor one at the best, and the road was guaranteed sooner or later to knock even a Rolls-Royce into scrap iron.
All the same it was glorious to be out in the open again.

Peter's face wore a new look, and he sniffed the bitter air like a stag.

There floated up from little wayside camps the odour of wood-smoke and dung-fires.