Farther away the partridges stole quietly to an anthill at the edge of some barley.

By the white road, a white milestone, chipped and defaced, stood almost hidden among thistles and brambles.

Some white railings guarded the sides of a bridge, or rather a low arch over a dry watercourse.

Heat, dust, a glaring whiteness, and a boundless expanse of golden wheat on either hand.
After awhile a towering four-in-hand coach rose out of the hollow where it had been hidden, and came bowling along the level.

The rapid hoofs beat the dust, which sprang up and followed behind in a cloud, stretching far in the rear, for in so still an atmosphere the particles were long before they settled again.