1 The clock, far down in the hall, struck two.
2 It struck me that his hand looked wasted like his face.
3 The duration of each lesson was measured by the clock, which at last struck twelve.
4 If she struck me with that rod, I should get it from her hand; I should break it under her nose.
5 He ground his teeth and was silent: he arrested his step and struck his boot against the hard ground.
6 While I paced softly on, the last sound I expected to hear in so still a region, a laugh, struck my ear.
7 I wonder if he read that notion in my face; for, all at once, without speaking, he struck suddenly and strongly.
8 But I liked his physiognomy even less than before: it struck me as being at the same time unsettled and inanimate.
9 My look or something else must have struck her as offensive, for she spoke with extreme though suppressed irritation.
10 Both the sisters seemed struck: not shocked or appalled; the tidings appeared in their eyes rather momentous than afflicting.
11 Little things recall us to earth; the clock struck in the hall; that sufficed; I turned from moon and stars, opened a side-door, and went in.
12 The idea struck me that if she discovered I knew or suspected her guilt, she would be playing of some of her malignant pranks on me; I thought it advisable to be on my guard.
13 The light that long ago had struck me into syncope, recalled in this vision, seemed glidingly to mount the wall, and tremblingly to pause in the centre of the obscured ceiling.
14 More restless than ever, when I had completed these arrangements I could not sit still, nor even remain in the house: a little time-piece in the room and the old clock in the hall simultaneously struck ten.
15 It wanted but a few minutes of six, and shortly after that hour had struck, the distant roll of wheels announced the coming coach; I went to the door and watched its lamps approach rapidly through the gloom.
16 I struck straight into the heath; I held on to a hollow I saw deeply furrowing the brown moorside; I waded knee-deep in its dark growth; I turned with its turnings, and finding a moss-blackened granite crag in a hidden angle, I sat down under it.
17 Miss Temple had always something of serenity in her air, of state in her mien, of refined propriety in her language, which precluded deviation into the ardent, the excited, the eager: something which chastened the pleasure of those who looked on her and listened to her, by a controlling sense of awe; and such was my feeling now: but as to Helen Burns, I was struck with wonder.
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