Save by the shining of a wet forehead, his face betrayed nothing of the anguish he suffered.

He looked at neither of them, but sent his gaze straight away under labouring brows to an arm of the fireside chair, while his shoulders drooped on the wavering support of his hard-shut hands.

Rhoda's eyes, ox-like, as were her father's, smote full upon Robert's, as in a pang of apprehension of what was about to be uttered.
It was a quick blaze of light, wherein he saw that the girl's spirit was not with him.

He would have stopped the farmer at once, but he had not the heart to do it, even had he felt in himself strength to attract an intelligent response from that strange, grave, bovine fixity of look, over which the human misery sat as a thing not yet taken into the dull brain.
"My taste for life," the old man resumed, "that's gone.

I didn't bargain at set-out to go on fighting agen the world.