There was, I repeat, not a sound.

Our cottage looked so peaceful--smoke coming from the chimney.

No sign of the shambles, no sign except the four dead men, all so grave and quiet.

The blue in the sky grew deeper.

Then the sun rose, a jolly gold ball with red clouds swinging in streamers away from it.
The birds sang above my head so loudly that the boy who was mowing looked up at them.