Each in his own way was solemn and overcome.

Arthur was silent, and was, I could see, striving to grasp the purpose and the inner meaning of the mystery.

I was myself tolerably patient, and half inclined again to throw aside doubt and to accept Van Helsing's conclusions.

Quincey Morris was phlegmatic in the way of a man who accepts all things, and accepts them in the spirit of cool bravery, with hazard of all he has at stake.

Not being able to smoke, he cut himself a good-sized plug of tobacco and began to chew.