A tremulous chill blew round his heart, no stronger than a little wind, and yet, listening and suffering silently, he seemed to have laid an ear against the muscle of his own heart, feeling it close and quail, listening to the flutter of its ventricles. --O, go on, Wells, all said. Yet that which is above all this, the favour and the love of Heaven, we have great argument to think in a peculiar manner propitious and propending towards us. --And who do you think is the greatest poet? asked Boland, nudging his neighbour.
http://whozwholive.ning.com/profiles/blogs/his-fxroGrose in a relation over which, on my way, in the coach, I fear I had rather brooded. I had dropped, with the joy of her reappearance, back into my chair--feeling then, and then only, a little faint; and she had pattered straight over to me, thrown herself upon my knee, given herself to be held with the flame of the candle full in the wonderful little face that was still flushed with sleep. Dante looked terribly angry and repeated while they laughed: --Very nice! Ha! Very nice! It was not nice about the spit in the woman's eye. Was it the raw reddish glow he had so often seen on wintry mornings on the shaven gills of the priests? The face was eyeless and sour-favoured and devout, shot with pink tinges of suffocated anger.