The beating of my heart was so violent and wild that I felt as if my life were breaking from me.

Spite is a little word, but it represents as strange a jumble of feelings and compound of discords, as any polysyllable in the language.

And yet I love him. I love him so much and so dearly, that when I sometimes think my life may be but a weary one, I am proud of it and glad of it. I am proud and glad to suffer something for him, even though it is of no service to him, and he will never know of it or care for it.

The sergeant was describing a military life. It was all drinking, he said, except that there were frequent intervals of eating and love making.

It was one of those hot, silent nights, when people sit at windows listening for the thunder which they know will shortly break; when they recall dismal tales of hurricanes and earthquakes; and of lonely travellers on open plains, and lonely ships at sea, struck by lightning.

Probably every new and eagerly expected garment ever put on since clothes came in, fell a trifle short of the wearer's expectation.

A little learning is a dangerous thing, but a little patronage more so.