“Oh, well”—throwing up her fingers with drollery in her little flippant way—“we all go soppy for one third of our lives when baby’s ‘up a tree’ rockabyeing … But I can be pretty queerish in sleep; have visions, intuitions.[…]”

Fanny, red-cheeked and bright-eyed from her recent mental struggles, listened interestedly, then intently, then absorbedly.

His suspicious behaviour brought him to the attention of the police.

Thou hast been a shelter for me, and a strong tower from the enemy.