There was nothing remarkable in our life.

When I came home in the evening, Marie, who often had not been out and had kept on her dressing-gown and plaits, used to say, "There's been nothing to speak of to-day." The aeroplanes were appearing at that time.

We talked about them, and saw photographs of them in the papers.

One Sunday we saw one from our window.

We had heard the chopped-up noise of its engine expanding over the sky; and down below, the townsfolk on their doorsteps, raised their heads towards the ceiling of their streets.