a ramped stairway

He bellowed as bassly as his youthful voice would allow.

Sometimes, we whee together, at the same time, for the same reason, feeling the same thing. And sometimes – these are the best of times – we can’t really tell who started the whee, or who’s wheeing more.

He had frequent fits of melancholy in which he declared that he was neither fish nor flesh nor good red herring. His was neither an irresponsibly contemplative nature nor a sturdily practical one, and he was for ever looking in vain for the uses of the things that please and the charm of the things that sustain.