I have gotten quite a bit through The Woman in White at this stage in time, but thought I should share a short snippet that I enjoyed right back in the beginning. It goes like this:
The last word went like a bullet to ny heart. My arm lost all sensation of the hand that grasped it. I never moved and never spoke. The sharp autumn breeze that scattered the dead leaves at our feet, came as cold to me, on a sudden, as if my own mad hopes were dead leaves too, whirled away by the wind like the rest.
Chapter 5, The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins (published 1860).
Did you pay proper attention to the last sentence? That last sentence is wonderful, and my only reason for thinking so is that it is crisp and cold and stirs a crisp, cold little image in my mind. Short and sharp. Deap hopes as dead leaves. You can see it, can't you? And it feels cold.