Occasionally I distinguished openings into lagoons, such passages into the low-lying mainland being evidenced by the deeper green of the vegetation bordering them, as well as by wind-twisted trees clinging despairingly to the crooked banks.

East and south swept the river, so broad our eyes could barely trace the dim presence of a distant shore.

Below, that majestic yellow flood poured downward unbroken, although De Noyan imagined he perceived distant spars of the Spanish fleet outlined against the blue background of the southern sky.

This may have been possible, yet to my eyes all was blank, although I could mark pretty accurately where they should have been.
We indulged in little conversation, reclining on the short grass, partaking of our cold meal.

The Chevalier attempted a sorry jest or two, yet soon subsided, discovering so unresponsive an audience.