[T]he sedate monk's hood lifted its head still higher and looked gloomily and wickedly down on it, while it nodded and kept time to the cuckoo's song, as if it were counting how many days it had to live.
Thoughts of needing to rise for work in the morning further hindered Paul the somnivolent. The longer he lay awake the clearer his head became and the less likely he was to fall asleep, or so he thought.
Not at first sight, nor with a dribbèd shot, / Love gave the wound […]
the rain would thrash along by so thick that the trees off a little ways looked dim and spider-webby; and here would come a blast of wind that would bend the trees down and turn up the pale underside of the leaves
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