Sticking out of a crescent-shaped sand ridge of a type known as a lunette were some human bones.
[H]e fetched me such a clip on top of my brain-bucket as to drive all my senses clear down into my boots.
[…] if therefore position is, to the nascent intelligence, incognizable except as the position of something that produces an impression on the organism; how is it possible for the idea of position ever to be dissociated from that of body?
That distinguishing feature of the street-architecture of Paris—the porte cochère—has its prototype still in the City of London, though it is almost as seldom met with now as the pointed gable, the latticed window, or the overhanging story of a much earlier period. […] But exceptions to the rule may yet be found, and here and there the curious seeker may stumble, even at the present hour, upon a genuine porte cochère.
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