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My sin, my soul.
Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov
Hive-spangled, gut roaring with gas and cramp, he survived childhood; at the state university, hand clapped over his chin, he camouflaged torment with smiles and silence.
The Shipping News by Annie Proulx
One his wife had given him for Christmas a year ago, before they moved down here.
Get Shorty by Elmore Leonard
Her hand and wrist were so finely formed that she could wear sleeves not less bare of style than those in which the Blessed Virgin appeared to Italian painters; and her profile as well as her stature and bearing seemed to gain the more dignity from her plain garments, which by the side of provincial fashion gave her the impressiveness of a fine quotation from the Bible, - or from one of our elder poets, - in a paragraph of to-day’s newspaper.
Middlemarch by George Eliot
The wind, even at sixty miles an hour, is warm and humid.
The judge, a formidably heavy-featured man, rolled up the sleeves of his black robe as if to physically chastise the two young men standing before the bench.
The Godfather by Mario Puzo
A yellow dressinggown, ungirdled, was sustained gently behind him by the mild morning air.
Ulysses by James Joyce
I already knew something was going to happen; the Factory told me.
The Wasp Factory by Iain Banks
Early every morning they would come out from the house where they lived and walk arm in arm down the street to work.
The Heart is a Lonely Hunter by Carson McCullers
Then the humans.
The Book Thief by Markus Zusak
The house on East 88th Street.
The House on East 88th Street by Bernard Waber
The city’s population had come out into the boulevards and plazas and were standing in silence.
2312 by Kim Stanley Robinson
His face was the true index of his mind.
Candide by Voltaire
One of them, approximately forty years old, dressed in a grey summer suit, was short, dark-haired, plump, bald, and carried his respectable fedora hat in his hand.
The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov
It seemed to me I stood by the iron gate leading to the drive, and for a while I could not enter, for the way was barred to me.
Rebecca by Daphne Du Maurier