The house was astoundingly noiseless, though situated in what had once been the heart of Paris.

It was one of the few houses left in this quarter with a large garden.

And the traffic passing in and out of the Ruelle St.Jacob went slipshod on its own feet.

The busy crackle of the wood was the only sound to break a silence which seemed part of this vast palace of memories.
Loo had ridden far and was tired.

He smiled grimly at the fire.