1 Keep your fingers from that bitter phalanx of vials.
2 Catherine was too intent on his fingers to notice his face.
3 Hareton would not open his fingers, so I laid it on his knee.
4 Her fingers clutched the clothes, and gathered them over her eyes.
5 She began singing very low, till his fingers dropped from hers, and his head sank on his breast.
6 He leant against the side, and held his fingers on the latch as if intending to open for himself.
7 At the first finger his father laid on him, however, he shrieked again louder than before, and struggled as if he would go into convulsions.
8 Heathcliff stood near the entrance, in his shirt and trousers; with a candle dripping over his fingers, and his face as white as the wall behind him.
9 She gazed concernedly at the dusky fingers she held in her own, and also at her dress; which she feared had gained no embellishment from its contact with his.
10 She snatched at the instrument, and half succeeded in getting it out of his loosened fingers: but her action recalled him to the present; he recovered it speedily.
11 Her present countenance had a wild vindictiveness in its white cheek, and a bloodless lip and scintillating eye; and she retained in her closed fingers a portion of the locks she had been grasping.
12 And though frequently, when she looked in to bid me good-night, I remarked a fresh colour in her cheeks and a pinkness over her slender fingers, instead of fancying the line borrowed from a cold ride across the moors, I laid it to the charge of a hot fire in the library.
13 I vainly reminded him of his protracted abstinence from food: if he stirred to touch anything in compliance with my entreaties, if he stretched his hand out to get a piece of bread, his fingers clenched before they reached it, and remained on the table, forgetful of their aim.