Beneath us the brown Napo River was rising, in all silence; it coiled up the sandy bank and tangled its foam in vines that trailed from the forest and roots that looped the shore.
On a summer evening, after a long walk in very hot weather, he lay down upon the sofa in his study, and there — as his calm face declared — passed from slumber into the great silence.
It was during these moments of deep silence that the canvas which concealed the entrance to a spacious marquee in the French encampment was shoved aside, and a man issued from beneath the drapery into the open air.