1 The light shook and splintered in the puddles.
2 In the farthest stable a light was glimmering.
3 He read on by its wan light till he could read no more.
4 He stopped suddenly, and a gleam of light came into his eyes.
5 Greasy reflectors of ribbed tin backed them, making quivering disks of light.
6 A cold current of air passed them, and the light shot up for a moment in a flame of murky orange.
7 In the dim arrested light that struggled through the cream-coloured silk blinds, the face appeared to him to be a little changed.
8 An exclamation of horror broke from the painter's lips as he saw in the dim light the hideous face on the canvas grinning at him.
9 After a little while, a black shadow that had been creeping along the dripping wall moved out into the light and came close to him with stealthy footsteps.
10 And Lord Henry struck a light on a dainty silver case and began to smoke a cigarette with a self-conscious and satisfied air, as if he had summed up the world in a phrase.
11 As soon as he was dressed, he went into the library and sat down to a light French breakfast that had been laid out for him on a small round table close to the open window.
12 For weeks he would not go there, would forget the hideous painted thing, and get back his light heart, his wonderful joyousness, his passionate absorption in mere existence.
13 Some large blue china jars and parrot-tulips were ranged on the mantelshelf, and through the small leaded panes of the window streamed the apricot-coloured light of a summer day in London.
14 It was tea-time, and the mellow light of the huge, lace-covered lamp that stood on the table lit up the delicate china and hammered silver of the service at which the duchess was presiding.
15 When the Duke de Valentinois, son of Alexander VI, visited Louis XII of France, his horse was loaded with gold leaves, according to Brantome, and his cap had double rows of rubies that threw out a great light.
16 Dim and wavering as was the wind-blown light, yet it served to show him the hideous error, as it seemed, into which he had fallen, for the face of the man he had sought to kill had all the bloom of boyhood, all the unstained purity of youth.
17 The studio was filled with the rich odour of roses, and when the light summer wind stirred amidst the trees of the garden, there came through the open door the heavy scent of the lilac, or the more delicate perfume of the pink-flowering thorn.
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