Freed from its enemy, stopped short

The field mouse, now that it was freed from its enemy, stopped short; and coming slowly up to the Woodman it said, in a squeaky little voice: Oh, thank you! Thank you ever so much for saving my life. Don’t speak of it, I beg of you, replied the Woodman. I have no heart, you […]

The Tin Woodman gave a sigh of satisfaction and lowered his axe

“What can I do for you?” she inquired softly, for she was moved by the sad voice in which the man spoke. Get an oil-can and oil my joints,” he answered.  They are rusted so badly that I cannot move them at all; if I am well oiled I shall soon be all right again. […]

He read and re-read the paper, fearing the worst had happened to me.

He read and re-read the paper, fearing the worst had happened to me. He was restless, and after supper prowled out again aimlessly. He returned and tried in vain to divert his attention to his examination notes. He went to bed a little after midnight, and was awakened from lurid dreams in the small hours.

Other poets have warbled praises of soft eye of the antelope

Still, we can hypothesize, even if we cannot prove and establish. My hypothesis is this: that the spout is nothing but mist. And besides other reasons, to this conclusion I am impelled, by considerations touching the great inherent dignity and sublimity of the Sperm Whale