I can't stay indoors.
Just to tramp through wet or dry heather, or under dripping or shining trees, is enough.

How can one believe one has ever lain sweating with one's tongue lolling out, and listened to the whining creak of the punkah through nights too deadly hot to sleep in! It's like remembering hell while one lives in Paradise." "We shan't live in Paradise long," Hester said once with some bitterness.

"Hell is waiting for us." "Damn it! don't remind a man.

There are times when I don't believe it." He almost snarled the answer.

It was true that his habit was to enhance the pleasure of his days by thrusting into the background all recollections of the reality of any other existence than that of the hour.