'Follow me into my dressing-room,' she said, and led the way.
Escape was no longer possible.

He was on the march to execution, and into the darkness of his brain danced John Raikes, with his grotesque tribulations.

It was the harsh savour of reality that conjured up this flighty being, who probably never felt a sorrow or a duty.

The farce Jack lived was all that Evan's tragic bitterness could revolve, and seemed to be the only light in his mind.

You might have seen a smile on his mouth when he was ready to ask for a bolt from heaven to crush him.
'Now,' said her ladyship, and he found that the four walls enclosed them, 'what have I been doing ?' She did not bid him be seated.