Some people's movements provoke the soul by their loose awkwardness...
...his destitution of purse.
...the weather and rooms being too hot to give substantial fabrics suffrance...
I read your skull that night you came...
When my tongue once got free, and my voice took its true pitch, and found its natural tone...
...he fumed like a bottled storm.
...a want of companionship maintained in my soul the cravings of a most deadly famine.
...but this duty had become to him a sort of form: he went through it with the phlegm of custom.
I said I was perishing for a word of advice or an accent of comfort.
It was cold, and pierced me to the vitals.
I saw in his countenance a teeming plenitude of comment, question and interest...
I have done nothing wrong: my life has not been active enough for any dark deed, either of romance or reality...
...my sympathy desired to keep its cornucopia replenished and ready for outpouring.
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