E. Nesbit

“ I am not a bit afraid of you. Nothing matters now I know that you love me. You will see—I shall have everything my own way. Dear, put the naughty, black dog up the chimney; I have no pride now—I am going to be your darling——"
Under the sables, her hand, in its torn, grimy glove slipped into his. He clasped it and: "You have exorcised the devil," he said softly, and her fingers clung to his.
"Say it again—now you know that I am not dead."
So he whispered in her ear in that crowded carriage the most banal of love's banalities: "My darling!" ”

“ She turned her head to the window, so that he should not see her eyes. With a shriek and a rumble the train passed into a tunnel. The roar of it rang in her ears, and the tears ran down her face on to the sables. Two shrieks from the engine—the train quivered and shook with the sudden stress of the brakes. Then came another shriek, a crash—and—the biggest accident of the year, as the Northern express ran full into the rear lights of the slow local.
The first-class carriage where pride and love had fought lay battered and overturned on the up-fine. ”

“ The white, wintry sunshine struck through the window of the railway carriage and made jewels of her blue, Irish eyes. Railway rug and Gladstone, muff and handbag were grouped about her. On the blue cushion at her side lay a sheaf of papers and reviews freshly reaped from the bookstall. On her green cloth lap lay a great bunch of violets.
"They will be companions," said the man who stood at the carriage door. "Don't let them talk too much, or they will bore you." ”