When she seated herself her posture was instantly graceful, and that of one who is indifferent about support for the back.
'What is the matter ?' she began.

'Why can't you get on with the story ?' It was the tone of friendly remonstrance, not exactly of affection, not at all of tender solicitude.
Reardon had risen and wished to approach her, but could not do so directly.

He moved to another part of the room, then came round to the back of her chair, and bent his face upon her shoulder.
'Amy--' 'Well.' 'I think it's all over with me.

I don't think I shall write any more.' 'Don't be so foolish, dear.

What is to prevent your writing ?' 'Perhaps I am only out of sorts.