We opened another door.

It led into a large, empty, sonorous hall; the floor was cracked in a hundred places, but there was fresh paint on the wainscoting.
The green forest opposite sheds a vivid reflection on the white walls, through the large windows of the castle.

There is a lake and underneath the windows were clusters of lilacs, petunia-blossoms and acacias, which have grown pell-mell in the former parterre, and cover the hill that slopes gradually to the road, following the banks of the lake and then continuing through the woods.
The great, deserted hall, where the child who afterwards wrote _Rene_, used to sit and gaze out of the windows, was silent.

The clerk smoked his pipe and expectorated on the floor.

His dog, which had followed him, hunted for mice, and its nails clicked on the pavement.
We walked up the winding stairs.