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He was not conscious and who of his class ever are? of the effects of the life he was leading the tightening of this chain of immoral habits, the searing of what conscience he had, the freezing of all that was generous and good within him. Once his nature had been as a lake in midsummer, its surface shimmering in the sunlight, reflecting something of the beauty that came to it.
A pamphlet called "The Old Martyrs' Prison," says of Cunningham: "His hatred of the Americans found vent in torture by searing irons and secret scourges to those who fell under the ban of his displeasure. The prisoners were crowded together so closely that many fell ill from partial asphyxiation, and starved to death for want of the food which he sold to enrich himself."
For a space the silence was so intense, that once again the girls' laughter was heard from the garden, now seeming unduly loud. Who would have ventured to utter the word that was searing Lorenzi's soul, as he stood at the table with his arm still raised?
The move was unmistakable he was just waiting for her to name him the knight of her choice. And, instead, the little girl, her eyes twin shafts of searing scorn, curled her lips at him and fairly spat out the words in her shaking rage. "You you my knight?" she half whispered, "You!" And she turned her back and went, solicitously, toward Archie and his rumpled clothes.
As Jerome Searing drew back the hammer of his rifle and with his eyes upon the distant Confederates considered where he could plant his shot with the best hope of making a widow or an orphan or a childless mother, perhaps all three, for Private Searing, although he had repeatedly refused promotion, was not without a certain kind of ambition, he heard a rushing sound in the air, like that made by the wings of a great bird swooping down upon its prey.
My dazzled sight cleared, glare and blaze and searing incandescence took form, became ordered. Within the sea of light I glimpsed shapes cyclopean, unnameable. They moved slowly, with an awesome deliberateness. They shone darkly within the flame-woven depths. From them came the volleys of the lightnings. Score upon score of them there were huge and enigmatic.
The waning moon came up at last, behind a distant line of trees on the Charente side, lighting up with a silver lining the towering clouds of the storm, which was still travelling eastward, leaving in its wake battered vines and ruined crops, searing the face of the land as with a hot iron. Loo lifted his head and looked round him.
In general the countenance was alertly intelligent; he looked younger than his years; but this afternoon the lines about his mouth and in his brows warranted every gray hair of his pointed short beard. There was a reason. Nelson was having one of those searing flashes of insight that do come occasionally to the most blindly hopeful souls. Nelson had hoped all his life.
Searing irons glared before his eyes; in a dim, arched corner a brazier glowed dully; ropes creaked. Returning to the library, he found himself again within the aura of his departed uncle.
But they knew he'd tried to do something with apparatus that burned itself out without operating, and that he'd tumbled down a ten-foot drop while fleeing from the searing green arc, and even that he'd appealed for help with the words, "Try! Try! Try!" And they knew that somebody had helped him get away from the scene of his exploit and injury. But they didn't know how, nor that it was Soames.
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