But then he had often heard that the son usually resembled the mother.

She must have been dark, slender, a frail wife for such a giant; but perhaps she had a strength of spirit which made her his mate.
As the picture drew out more clearly in the mind of Anthony, he turned from the lighted room, threw open a window, and leaned out to breathe the calm, damp air of night.
It was infinitely cool, infinitely fresh.

To his left a row of young trees darted their slender tops at the sky like shadowy spearheads.

The smell of wet leaves and the wet grass beneath rose up to him.

To the right, for his own room stood in a wing of the mansion, the house shouldered its way into the gloom, a solemn, grey shadow, netted in a black tracery of climbing vine.