After a long enquiry of things immerse in matter, I interpose some object which is immateriate, or less materiate; such as this of sounds.

I ought to imitate you, in fact, Mr. Vholes? says Richard, sitting down again with an impatient laugh and beating the devil's tattoo with his boot on the patternless carpet.

[…] the herd of four or five hundred cattle trotting homewards with loud lowings and bellowings […]

I took so many of them, felt them stick in my throat and I swallowed and swallowed to get them down, and I sat with that bottle and chanted, more, more, more, and then the bottle was nearly empty and I thought suddenly, Wait, I don't want to die