They were not hostile; they were merely cold and watchful and questioning.
"Well ?" "Well, somebody did think so.

I've thought so for three years, and so I'm here." Jean found that her breath was coming fast, and that as she leaned back against a post and gripped the rail on either side, her arms were quivering like the legs of a frightened horse.

Still, her voice had sounded calm enough.
Art Osgood sat with his shoulders drooped forward a little, and painstakingly snipped off tiny bits of the splinter.

After a short silence, he turned his head and looked at her again.
"I shouldn't think you'd want to stir up that trouble after all this while," he said.

"But women are queer.