1 I have not had the heart to write.
2 With a glad heart, I opened my door and ran down to the hall.
3 It is of Jonathan, and must be next my heart, for he is in my heart.
4 It would shock and frighten her to death were I to expose my heart to her.
5 To-day I seemed to get nearer than ever before to the heart of his mystery.
6 My heart beat so loud all the time that sometimes I thought I should faint.
7 But there was no sign of movement, no pulse, no breath, no beating of the heart.
8 I felt in my heart a wicked, burning desire that they would kiss me with those red lips.
9 The man who took them pressed them to his heart and bowed, and then put them in his cap.
10 With a beating heart, I tried the door; but I was locked in my prison, and could do nothing.
11 I am no longer young; and my heart, through weary years of mourning over the dead, is not attuned to mirth.
12 She threw herself on her knees, and raising up her hands, cried the same words in tones which wrung my heart.
13 There, indeed, was a woman with dishevelled hair, holding her hands over her heart as one distressed with running.
14 And then, my dear, before I could say a word he began pouring out a perfect torrent of love-making, laying his very heart and soul at my feet.
15 She has not told Lucy, and made me promise secrecy; her doctor told her that within a few months, at most, she must die, for her heart is weakening.
16 But I am not in heart to describe beauty, for when I had seen the view I explored further; doors, doors, doors everywhere, and all locked and bolted.
17 My lamp seemed to be of little effect in the brilliant moonlight, but I was glad to have it with me, for there was a dread loneliness in the place which chilled my heart and made my nerves tremble.
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