The days were shortening to the wintry span.

The edge of the red sun had already touched the horizon as Madame and I, overtaken at the warren by his last beams, were hastening homeward.
A narrow carriage-road traverses this wild region of the park, to which a distant gate gives entrance.

On descending into this unfrequented road, I was surprised to see a carriage standing there.

A thin, sly postilion, with that pert, turned-up nose which the old caricaturist Woodward used to attribute to the gentlemen of Tewkesbury, was leaning on his horses, and looked hard at me as I passed.

A lady who sat within looked out, with an extra-fashionable bonnet on, and also treated us to a stare.