He crossed a bridge to the other side, the road snaking in the green of fir and spruce, turning into a hill, a bit of snow skiffed in some places, then more, then everything coated, the evidence of a recent plow, the oil-and-gravel surface still ...

I've only just cleaned the floor, and you've made muddy tracks!

The staggered effect of random building resulted in a crazyquilt of dead ends and narrow, jagged alleyways.

That he was asleep a-bed by Ten a Clock: Lov'd Hunting as much as he hated Swearing; and preferid Cock-Ale, before any Wine.