Why is there always something a trifle menacing about a waning moon?
He did not like the smell of the mud-flats either.

It might not be actually unhealthy; but it suggested a certain foulness.

He yawned, drew back into the room, and straightening himself up, stretched his hands above his head.

He would get into bed again.

He was dog-tired--yes, most distinctly bed! Then he stopped short, listening, hastily knelt down by the window and again leaned out.