In the meanwhile he would give a free rein to these ecstatic moods, these wild emotions.

When he had given a free rein to them they ambled round a little paddock, and brought him back to his own front door.

It was delicious.

He had thoughts of chronicling the expedition in verse.
I fear we cannot escape the conclusion that Wentworth was on the verge of being a prig.

But he was held back as it were by the coat-tails from the abyss by a certain _naivete_ and uprightness of character.