But the seven most prominent Apostles […] still hang together, their hearts tormented with eager yet sad questionings, their hopes fast sicklying over with the pale hues of doubt.

The wind still sounds between the hills: and whistles through the grass of the rock. The firs fall from their place. The turfy hut is torn.

His Italian pronunciation is terrible.

The main knotty trunk seems to be made up of craggy granite boulders like those on which it stands, being about the same color as the mossy, lichened boulders and about as rough.