I shall not look back till we reach Venice.

At Venice, I know I shall see you all as clear as day; but I cannot even remember the features of my darling here." Her Christian name was still her only signature.
The thin blue-and-pink paper, and the foreign postmarks--testifications to Dahlia's journey not being a fictitious event, had a singular deliciousness for the solitary girl at the Farm.

At times, as she turned them over, she was startled by the intoxication of her sentiments, for the wild thought would come, that many, many whose passionate hearts she could feel as her own, were ready to abandon principle and the bondage to the hereafter, for such a long delicious gulp of divine life.

Rhoda found herself more than once brooding on the possible case that Dahlia had done this thing.
The fit of languor came on her unawares, probing at her weakness, and blinding her to the laws and duties of earth, until her conscious womanhood checked it, and she sprang from the vision in a spasm of terror, not knowing how far she had fallen.
After such personal experiences, she suffered great longings to be with her sister, that the touch of her hand, the gaze of her eyes, the tone of Dahlia's voice, might make her sure of her sister's safety.
Rhoda's devotions in church were frequently distracted by the occupants of the Blancove pew.

Mrs.Lovell had the habit of looking at her with an extraordinary directness, an expressionless dissecting scrutiny, that was bewildering and confusing to the country damsel.