He measured it against his own gaunt thin hand, which always had a nervous thrill in the pale fingers.

"You see, they are about the same size, but mine is certainly much whiter.

Just look at that ink-stain; that means you write too much.
I don't like you to be so tired in the evenings, John." "You rest me," he said, looking up into her face.

"It is a rest even to sit here beside you.

Do you know, Helen," he went on, after a moment's pause, "if I were in any pain, I mean any physical extremity, I would have strength to bear it if I could hold your hand; it is so strong and steady." She lifted her hand, and looked at it with amused curiosity, turning it about, "to get the best light upon it." "I am in earnest," John said, smiling.