The doctor, a stout old man with a long grey beard, made a prolonged examination of the bishop, and kept shaking his head and frowning, then said: “Do you know, your holiness, you have got typhoid?” After an hour or so of hemorrhage the bishop looked much thinner, paler, and wasted; his face looked wrinkled, his eyes looked bigger, and he seemed older, shorter, and it seemed to him that he was thinner, weaker, more insignificant than any one, that everything that had been had retreated far, far away and would never go on again or be repeated.
— from Project Gutenberg Compilation of 233 Short Stories of Chekhov by Anton Pavlovich Chekhov

I grant your worship that he is a knave, sir; but yet God forbid, sir, but a knave should have some countenance at his friend's request.
— from The Complete Works of William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare

Calabressa, sitting opposite her, judged that she was an Austrian, from the number of bags and knickknacks she had, all in red Russia leather, and from the number of trinkets she wore, mostly of Page 374
— from Sunrise by William Black

Religion, however, stopped her when she had got the little finger out, and the Misses Finlayson, who sat behind and knew she had an itchy something inside her glove, concluded that it was her threepenny for the plate.
— from Sentimental Tommy The Story of His Boyhood by J. M. (James Matthew) Barrie

"But, Aunt Kitty," said Harriet, in a low and hesitating tone, "if we are sorry for what we do wrong,—if we mourn over it, as you say, will not God forgive us?"
— from Aunt Kitty's Tales by Maria J. (Maria Jane) McIntosh