Her sudden failures of stamina are most embarrassing at critical junctures." "Very well, sir," I answered, swallowing a lump in my throat.

To say the truth, I was beginning to be afraid on Hilda's account.

That morning's events had thoroughly disquieted me.
He seemed relieved at my unquestioning acquiescence.

"She is a dangerous edged-tool; that's the truth of it," he went on, still twirling his moustache with a preoccupied air, and turning over his stock of needles.

"When she's clothed and in her right mind, she is a valuable accessory--sharp and trenchant like a clean, bright lancet; but when she allows one of these causeless hysterical fits to override her tone, she plays one false at once--like a lancet that slips, or grows dull and rusty." He polished one of the needles on a soft square of new chamois-leather while he spoke, as if to give point and illustration to his simile.
I went out from him, much perturbed.