1 Connie felt washed-out with fear.
2 It was early yet to begin to fear the man.
3 And Connie could keep the fear off him, if she would.
4 Connie could only be silent in cold fear and contempt.
5 Connie glanced at the handsome, brooding face in fear.
6 She started out of her muse, and gave a little cry of fear.
7 Connie sat and listened in a sort of wonder, and a sort of fear.
8 And they fear nothing, and they respect nothing, the young don't.
9 He knew that conscience was chiefly fear of society, or fear of oneself.
10 Now slowly it began to assert itself in a spread of fear, almost paralysis.
11 For her fear of the mining and iron Midlands affected her with a queer feeling that went all over her, like influenza.
12 But now, as the years went by, slowly, slowly, Connie felt the bruise of fear and horror coming up, and spreading in him.
13 She knew that the kindliness indicated a lack of fear, and that these people had no respect for you unless you could frighten them a little.
14 He went pale, with a sort of fear, when he saw Connie lifting the inert legs of the man in her arms, into the other chair, Clifford pivoting round as she did so.
15 She was his wife, a higher being, and he worshipped her with a queer, craven idolatry, like a savage, a worship based on enormous fear, and even hate of the power of the idol, the dread idol.
16 Shame, which is fear: the deep organic shame, the old, old physical fear which crouches in the bodily roots of us, and can only be chased away by the sensual fire, at last it was roused up and routed by the phallic hunt of the man, and she came to the very heart of the jungle of herself.
17 So, in the silent intimacy of the night, they sat, or she sat and he lay on the bed, with the reading-lamp shedding its solitary light on them, she almost gone in sleep, he almost gone in a sort of fear, and they played, played together--then they had a cup of coffee and a biscuit together, hardly speaking, in the silence of night, but being a reassurance to one another.
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