She looked at a white fleece that came across the sun, desiring to conjure it to stay and shadow him.

It sailed by.

She raised her parasol.
His eyelids were shut, and she thought him asleep.

Meditating on her unanswered question of Miss Kathleen's likeness to Patrick, Jane imagined a possibly greater likeness to her patient, and that he did not speak of his family's exclamations on the subject because of Kathleen's being so good-looking a girl.

For if good-looking, a sister must resemble these handsome features here, quiescent to inspection in their marble outlines as a corse.