Up the two terrace flights of steps the rain ran wildly, and beat at the great door, like a swift messenger rousing those within;.
Black are the brooding clouds and troubled the deep waters, when the Sea of Thought, first heaving from a calm, gives up its Dead
Home is a name, a word, it is a strong one.
You have been the last dream of my soul.
They don't mind it: its a reg'lar holiday to them - all porter and skittles.
An observer of men who finds himself steadily repelled by some apparently trifling thing in a stranger is right to give it great weight. It may be the clue to the whole mystery. A hair or two will show where a lion is hidden. A very little key will open a very heavy door.