Humbly stooping, they found ingress under the drooping eaves.

A custom immemorial, and well calculated to remind all contumacious subjects of the dignity of the habitation thus entered.
Three steps led to the summit of the dais, where piles of soft mats, and light pillows of woven grass, stuffed with the golden down of a wild thistle, invited all loiterers to lounge.
How pleasant the twilight that welled up from under the low eaves, above which we were seated.

And how obvious now the design of the roof.

No shade more grateful and complete; the garish sun lingering without like some lackey in waiting.
But who is this in the corner, gaping at us like a butler in a quandary?
Media's household deity, in the guise of a plethoric monster, his enormous head lolling back, and wide, gaping mouth stuffed full of fresh fruits and green leaves.

Truly, had the idol possessed a soul under his knotty ribs, how tantalizing to hold so glorious a mouthful without the power of deglutition.