Explore "The Dewy Morn" by Richard Jefferies on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Entering the garden by a sidepath, Felise heard two voices in loud altercation, or rather one voice stridently asserting itself over the other, and she paused where she could see the disputants through the open window.
Goring in the whitest of white shirtsleeves -- just as he had left his spade -- was standing by the mantelpiece, resting his firm chin on his hand, and steadfastly regarding the steward. His high forehead, partly bald, and flecked at the temples with grey among the brown of his hair, expressed calm intellect reposing in itself. Not the nervous, eager brain which seeks preferment and must thrust itself to the front; the intellect which reposes and reflects.