I could feel my flesh tingle when I thought of her quick words and her hoarse passionate whisper.

She must have come into the barn while I was swimming and hidden behind the straw heap in the rear end of it and watched the edge of the woods through the many cracks in the boarding.
I knew, or thought I knew, why she took such care of me.

She was in league with the gallows and could not bear to see it cheated of its prey.

For some reason she hated the Grimshaws.

I had seen the hate in her eyes the day she dogged along behind the old money-lender through the streets of the village when her pointing finger had seemed to say to me: "There, there is the man who has brought me to this.