Sighing

Examples

• He was now at my feet, the humble sighing, adoring, suppliant lover again. Harriette Wilson. The Memoirs of Harriette Wilson.
• I dare say, returned Harriet, sighing again, I dare say she was very much attached to him. Jane Austen. Emma.
• Thank you, returned Argyle, sighing. Harriette Wilson. The Memoirs of Harriette Wilson.
• Calypso sighing for Ulysses, observed Crispin, without altering his position; though I dare say it is only the wind moaning through the ropes. Fergus Hume. The Island of Fantasy.
• Yielding, therefore, the chair at the bedside to the quaint old housekeeper, Volumnia sits at a table a little removed, sympathetically sighing. Charles Dickens. Bleak House.
• What she uttered was a lengthened sighing, apparently at something in her mind which had led to her presence here. Thomas Hardy. The Return of the Native.
• Was he bewitched by those beautiful eyes, that soft, half-open, sighing mouth which lay so close upon his shoulder only yesterday? Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell. North and South.
• You will go home and sleep well; I keep sighing in my sleep! Thomas Hardy. The Return of the Native.
• They had hardly uttered the sighing, that the eyes of each called to the other to bring up from the depths of her heart. Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell. North and South.
• I meant well, answered I, sighing; for it never gave me any pleasure to be loved by those whose love I could not return. Harriette Wilson. The Memoirs of Harriette Wilson.
• It is, answered Poodle, that most lovely creature, Lady Fanny Ponsonby, whom we are all sighing and dying for. Harriette Wilson. The Memoirs of Harriette Wilson.
• I am afraid, returned Emma, sighing, that I must often have contributed to make her unhappy. Jane Austen. Emma.
• Heavily sighing, he put it in his pocket. Harriet Beecher Stowe. Uncle Tom's Cabin.
• It commenced-- '“Can I view thee panting, lying On thy stomach, without sighing; Can I unmoved see thee dying On a log Expiring frog! Charles Dickens. The Pickwick Papers.
• Again I threw myself on the sands, and then the sighing wind, mimicking a human cry, roused me to bitter, fallacious hope. Mary Shelley. The Last Man.

Inputed by Cleo