He walked across the room, waited a space, and walked back again, and then went out with his heart in its proper position in his chest; Ford was unused to feeling his heart rise to his palate, and the sensation was more novel than agreeable.

When he went again down the path, there was a certain exhilaration in his step.

His thoughts arranged themselves in clear-cut sentences, as if he were speaking, instead of those vague, almost wordless impressions which fill the brain ordinarily.
"She's keeping cases on that jug.

She must care, or she wouldn't do that.

She's worried a whole lot; I could see that, all along.