'Twas a little one-eyed, blinking sort o' place. - Thomas Hardy

She heard footsteps brushing the grass, and had a consciousnesss that love was encircling her like a perfume.

Did it never strike your mind that what every woman says, some women may feel?

George's son had done his work so thoroughly that he was considered too good a workman to live, and was, in fact, taken and tragically shot at twelve o'clock that same day — another instance of the untoward fate which so often attends dogs and other philosophers who follow out a train of reasoning to its logical conclusion, and attempt perfectly consistent conduct in a world made up so largely of compromise.