They, if petted for a moment beneath the shadow, corrupt our blood.

Weyburn was a man to have them by the throat at the birth.
Still they thronged; heavy work of strangling had to be done.

Her tone of disappointment with the schoolmaster bit him, and it flattered him.

The feelings leapt alive, equally venomous from the wound and the caress.

They pushed to see, had to be repelled from seeing, the girl Browny in the splendid woman; they had lightning memories: not the pain of his grip could check their voice on the theme touching her happiness or the reverse.