"So it has come to this," he thought resentfully, with his gaze on the doorway where a round yellow globe was shining.

Ragged frost-coated branches framed the sloping roof, and the white columns of the square side porches emerged from the black crags of magnolia trees.

In the centre of the circular drive, invaded by concrete, a white heron poured a stream of melting ice from a distorted throat.
The shutters were not closed at the lower windows, and the firelight flickered between the short curtains of some brownish muslin.

As Stephen passed the gate on his way down the hill, a figure crossed one of the windows, and his frown deepened as he recognized, or imagined that he recognized, the shadow of Gideon Vetch.
"Gideon Vetch!" At the sound of the name the young man threw back his head and laughed softly.

A Gideon Vetch was Governor of Virginia! Here also, he told himself, half humorously, half bitterly, democracy had won.