A great wind rises, and the summer is gone in a moment.

We are playing in the winter twilight, dancing about the parlour.

When my mother is out of breath and rests herself in an elbow-chair, I watch her winding her bright curls round her fingers, and straitening her waist, and nobody knows better than I do that she likes to look so well, and is proud of being so pretty.
That is among my very earliest impressions.

That, and a sense that we were both a little afraid of Peggotty, and submitted ourselves in most things to her direction, were among the first opinions--if they may be so called--that I ever derived from what I saw.
Peggotty and I were sitting one night by the parlour fire, alone.

I had been reading to Peggotty about crocodiles.