"You can't find fault with that!" "It is utterly detestable." "Not at all," he answered sullenly.

"I consider it a tribute--a graceful tribute." Miss Fanhall arose and went forward to the edge of the cliff.

She became absorbed in the falls.

Far below her a bough of a hemlock drooped to the water, and each swirling, mad wave caught it and made it nod--nod--nod.
Her back was half turned toward Hawker.
After a time Stanley, the dog, discovered some ants scurrying in the moss, and he at once began to watch them and wag his tail.
"Isn't it curious," observed Hawker, "how an animal as large as a dog will sometimes be so entertained by the very smallest things ?" Stanley pawed gently at the moss, and then thrust his head forward to see what the ants did under the circumstances.
"In the hunting season," continued Hawker, having waited a moment, "this dog knows nothing on earth but his master and the partridges.

He is lost to all other sound and movement.