1 He stood in the darkness expecting to hear her step.
2 They strained their eyes at each other through the icy darkness.
3 His wife looked so hard and lonely, sitting there in the darkness with such thoughts.
4 It was as senseless and savage as a physical fight between two enemies in the darkness.
5 She stopped short, and he felt, in the darkness, that her face was lifted quickly to his.
6 Seen thus, from the pure and frosty darkness in which he stood, it seemed to be seething in a mist of heat.
7 As he stood in the darkness outside the church these memories came back with the poignancy of vanished things.
8 As he lay there, the window-pane that faced him, growing gradually lighter, inlaid upon the darkness a square of moon-suffused sky.
9 He got his face down close to hers, with his ear to her mouth, and in the darkness he saw her eyes open and heard her say his name.
10 A wave of shyness pulled him back into the dark angle of the wall, and he stood there in silence instead of making his presence known to her.
11 He had been straining for a glimpse of the dark head under the cherry-coloured scarf and it vexed him that another eye should have been quicker than his.
12 One cold winter morning, as he dressed in the dark, his candle flickering in the draught of the ill-fitting window, he had heard her speak from the bed behind him.
13 He turned and looked at her where she lay indistinctly outlined under the dark calico quilt, her high-boned face taking a grayish tinge from the whiteness of the pillow.
14 They had reached the point where the road dipped to the hollow by Ethan's mill and as they descended the darkness descended with them, dropping down like a black veil from the heavy hemlock boughs.
15 It was a fact that since Mattie Silver's coming he had taken to shaving every day; but his wife always seemed to be asleep when he left her side in the winter darkness, and he had stupidly assumed that she would not notice any change in his appearance.
16 The light, on a level with her chin, drew out of the darkness her puckered throat and the projecting wrist of the hand that clutched the quilt, and deepened fantastically the hollows and prominences of her high-boned face under its ring of crimping-pins.
17 As she passed down the line, her light figure swinging from hand to hand in circles of increasing swiftness, the scarf flew off her head and stood out behind her shoulders, and Frome, at each turn, caught sight of her laughing panting lips, the cloud of dark hair about her forehead, and the dark eyes which seemed the only fixed points in a maze of flying lines.
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