... first bloom of young attraction—bright glances, touches, cool kisses almost without passion—and no power could bring that back. They felt miserable, standing there with the little waves coming in—whish! whish!—upon the gravelly patch of sand: for there lay at the bottom of their hearts a sense of something irretrievably wasted, which they could never have in ... — The Privet Hedge • J. E. Buckrose
... "Whish!" muttered Dummie, glancing over his shoulder at MacGrawler; "mayhap that gemman—" Here his voice became scarcely audible even to Mrs. Lobkins; but his whisper seemed to imply an insinuation that the illustrious editor of "The Asinaeum" might be either an informer, or one ... — Paul Clifford, Complete • Edward Bulwer-Lytton
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