She said, 'I should not even like my servant to know of it' (who had lived in her service four years).
— from Some Jewish Witnesses For Christ by Aaron Bernstein

I have had experience of this kind before; and besides, I do not easily lose my self-possession."
— from For the Major: A Novelette by Constance Fenimore Woolson

" Thus it was because the early New England life made so much larger account of the supernatural element than any other modern civilized society, that the man whose blood had run in its veins instinctively turned to it.
— from Literary and Social Essays by George William Curtis

“You would not even let me speak of our marriage just now,” he said.
— from The New Magdalen by Wilkie Collins

"As for this other," repeated Pontiac, "this hairless dog of an Englishman, take him to the Ottawa village, and deliver him to the tormentors, nor ever let me set eyes on him again." Thus saying, the chieftain, whose commands none dared disobey, entered the lodge whither Donald had been tenderly conveyed, and where the chief's daughter was already bathing his wounds.
— from At War with Pontiac; Or, The Totem of the Bear: A Tale of Redcoat and Redskin by Kirk Munroe

"Well, I don't think them quite so bad as that comes to, either," said Pastor Hehrmann, with a deprecating shake of the head; "they are actuated with the best intentions—viz., that of having the affairs of the republic, in which they live, managed as well as possible; and if they are not exactly learned men, still they probably can distinguish sense from nonsense."
— from The wanderings and fortunes of some German emigrants by Friedrich Gerstäcker

Remember, you would not even let me see him.
— from A Canadian Heroine, Volume 3 A Novel by Coghill, Harry, Mrs.

I fondly trace Thy strong enchantments, when the poet's lyre, The painter's pencil catch thy sacred fire, And beauty wakes for thee her touching grace— But from this frighted glance thy form avert When horrors check thy tear, thy struggling sigh, When frenzy rolls in thy impassion'd eye, Or guilt sits heavy on thy lab'ring heart— Nor ever let my shudd'ring fancy bear
— from Poems (1786), Volume I. by Helen Maria Williams