Most of them were old ladies from the district's less respectable quarter, knitting.

The Vicar was trying to press comfort upon them, but without much success, for they were all quite content, discussing the deaths in their families.
The noise of gunfire was coming nearer, shaking the ground like the uneven tread of a drunken giant.

Sarah Brown concentrated on an evening newspaper, busily reading again and again one of those columns of confidential man-to-man advertisement, which everybody reads with avidity while determining the more never to buy the article advertised.
But presently the fidgeting hands of Richard caught her eye, and she looked at him.

He was sitting next to his mother on a stone step.

He seemed to be in a quieter mood and attempted no manifestation.