So far as he was personally concerned, old Time lay snoring, and the world stood still.
Save for the dripping from the barrels, the rustling of such light fragments of destruction as the wind affected, and the dull creaking of the open doors, all was profoundly quiet: indeed, these sounds, like the ticking of the death-watch in the night, only made the silence they invaded deeper and more apparent.

But quiet or noisy, it was all one to John.

If a train of heavy artillery could have come up and commenced ball practice outside the window, it would have been all the same to him.

He was a long way beyond surprise.

A ghost couldn't have overtaken him.
By and by he heard a footstep--a hurried, and yet cautious footstep--coming on towards the house.