1 I waited with a sick feeling of suspense.
2 It is a hope that makes me sick, for it may deceive us.
3 Inured as I was to sick beds and death, this suspense grew, and grew upon me.
4 I laid down, whilst I waited his leisure to attend to me, for I felt faint and a little sick.
5 I saw him leave for Whitby with as brave a face as I could, but I was sick with apprehension.
6 The Consul is away, and the Vice-Consul sick; so the routine work has been attended to by a clerk.
7 You are sick and weak, and have had much sorrow and much mental pain, as well as that tax on your strength that we know of.
8 At the bottom there was a dark, tunnel-like passage, through which came a deathly, sickly odour, the odour of old earth newly turned.
9 I am too miserable, too low-spirited, too sick of the world and all in it, including life itself, that I would not care if I heard this moment the flapping of the wings of the angel of death.
10 I suppose it is that sickness and weakness are selfish things and turn our inner eyes and sympathy on ourselves, whilst health and strength give Love rein, and in thought and feeling he can wander where he wills.
11 I wanted her to tell me what they were; but she would only cross herself, and say she would never tell; that the ravings of the sick were the secrets of God, and that if a nurse through her vocation should hear them, she should respect her trust.