A heavy trampling is not far behind; nay, it is closer than you thought.

And your eyes are becoming misty, Ruth, and armies of drums are beating every other sound out of your ears--that shouting behind you, for instance.

The intoxicated, murderous lunatic is close behind.

One minute! Two minutes! How many more seconds can you keep it up?
Through the young plantation, down the hill, into the sandy road again, the sandy, uphill road.

How much longer can you keep it up?
* * * * * Charles strolled quietly homeward, enjoying the beauties of nature, and reflecting on the quantity of rabbit-shooting that Mr.Thursby must enjoy.