The dark look of hatred and revenge with which the words broke from his livid lips . . . made her so afraid of him that she turned to run away. But he caught her by the arm—Book 2, chap. xv.
Mrs. Lammle, on a sofa by a table, invites Mr. Twemlow's attention to a book of portraits in her hand—Book 2, chap. xvi.
It was an edifying spectacle, the young man in his easy chair taking his coffee, and the old man, with his grey head bent, standing awaiting his pleasure—Book 3, chap. i.
"It's summat run down in the fog"—Book 3, Chap. ii.
