Some minds are like an open fire—how direct and instant our communication with them
Something divine seemed to cling around her like some subtle vapor
Something resistant and inert, like the obstinate rolling over of a heavy sleeper after he has been called to get up
Something sharp and brilliant, like the glitter of a sword or a forked flash of lightning
Sorrowful eyes like those of wearied kine spent from the plowing
[kine = cows]
Spread like wildfire
Squirrel-in-the-cage kind of movement
Stamping like a plowman to shuffle off the snow
Stared about like calves in a pen
Steadfast as the soul of truth