Moreover, I became persuaded that he was but a poor sort of villain, for he was impulsive, as villains should never be.

We leaned over the stone sill of the window, which he had opened during the conversation.

There was a little trail of ants climbing up and down the wall at the side, and he watched them.

One of the small creatures, heavily laden with a seed of some sort, and toiling painfully under the burden, had been separated from the rest, and clambered over the edge of the window-sill.

On reaching the level surface it paused, as though very weary, and looked about, moving its tiny horns.