The darkness increases within, although the place is open to the sky, and the icy wind blows more mournfully than it did outside.

A penetrating humidity--a humidity altogether unknown in this country before the inundation--chills us to the bone.

We are now in that part of the temple which was left uncovered, the part where the faithful used to kneel.

The sonority of the granites round about exaggerates the noise of the oars on the enclosed water, and there is something confusing in the thought that we are rowing and floating between the walls where formerly, and for centuries, men were used to prostrate themselves with their foreheads on the stones.
And now it is quite dark; the hour grows late.

We have to bring the boat close to the walls to distinguish the hieroglyphs and rigid gods which are engraved there as finely as by the burin.