1 Sheds coat in the spring; in marshy countries, sheds hoofs, too.
2 A very regular feature on the face of the country, Stone Lodge was.
3 He is not coming down to the country house for a week or so, being due somewhere else.
4 She was very cleanly and plainly dressed, had country mud upon her shoes, and was newly come from a journey.
5 If no news comes to-morrow, let us walk in the country on Sunday morning, and strengthen you for another week.
6 The institutions of your country are not your piece-work, and the only thing you have got to do, is, to mind your piece-work.
7 The Sunday was a bright Sunday in autumn, clear and cool, when early in the morning Sissy and Rachael met, to walk in the country.
8 One, to Mr. Bounderby, announcing his retirement from that part of the country, and showing where he would be found for the next fortnight.
9 The dawn coming, the morning coming, and the day coming, and neither message nor letter coming with either, he went down to the country house.
10 That could hardly be, she knew, until an hour past midnight; but in the country silence, which did anything but calm the trouble of her thoughts, time lagged wearily.
11 Bitzer had come down by train, shrieking and rattling over the long line of arches that bestrode the wild country of past and present coal-pits, with an express from Stone Lodge.
12 He had reached the neutral ground upon the outskirts of the town, which was neither town nor country, and yet was either spoiled, when his ears were invaded by the sound of music.
13 Mounds where the grass was rank and high, and where brambles, dock-weed, and such-like vegetation, were confusedly heaped together, they always avoided; for dismal stories were told in that country of the old pits hidden beneath such indications.
14 Early in the afternoon, Mr. Gradgrind walked direct from his own house into the country, to be taken up on the line by which he was to travel; and at night the remaining two set forth upon their different course, encouraged by not seeing any face they knew.
15 The flutter of her manner, in the unwonted noise of the streets; the spare shawl, carried unfolded on her arm; the heavy umbrella, and little basket; the loose long-fingered gloves, to which her hands were unused; all bespoke an old woman from the country, in her plain holiday clothes, come into Coketown on an expedition of rare occurrence.
16 Separated from her staircase, all the week, by the length of iron road dividing Coketown from the country house, she yet maintained her cat-like observation of Louisa, through her husband, through her brother, through James Harthouse, through the outsides of letters and packets, through everything animate and inanimate that at any time went near the stairs.