I'm shut in a dark room with the candle blown out.

I've heard of a sort of fear you have in that dilemmer, lest you should lay your fingers on edges of sharp knives, and if I think a step--if I go thinking a step, and feel my way, I do cut myself, and I bleed, I do.

Robert, just take and say, it wasn't that one." Such a statement would carry with it the confession that it was this one for whom he cared this scornful one, this jilt, this brazen girl who could make appointments with gentlemen, or suffer them to speak to her, and subsequently look at him with innocence and with anger.
"Believe me, Mr.Fleming, I feel for you as much as a man can," he said, uneasily, swaying half round as he spoke.
"Do you suspect anything bad ?" The farmer repeated the question, like one who only wanted a confirmation of his own suspicions to see the fact built up.

"Robert, does this look like the letter of a married woman?
Is it daughter-like--eh, man?
Help another: I can't think for myself--she ties my hands.

Speak out." Robert set his eyes on Rhoda.