"If you do you'll feel it more." "I feel it now," groaned Hen, beginning to moan.

"My hands are frozen stiff." They weren't really frozen, though the hands had been badly nipped.

It was twenty minutes before Hen Dutcher cared to move over to the table.
Even then he complained severely of the "stinging" in his hands, feet and chin.
"I'm going out," proposed Dave, reaching for his cap and coat.

"I'm going to see for myself just how cold it is." No one offered to accompany Darrin.

He paused, outside, to tap on one of the window panes.