The black and merciless things that are behind the great possessions.

When I am wicked I am in high spirits.

Her imagination was by habit ridiculously active; when the door was not open it jumped out the window.

I am blackly bored when they are at large and at work; but somehow I am still more blackly bored when they are shut up in Holloway and we are deprived of them.

She had a certain way of looking at life which he took as a personal offense.

I would give all I possess to get out of myself; but somehow, at the end, I find myself so vastly more interesting than nine tenths of the people I meet.

What is either a picture or a novel that is not character?