They were more human than the dreadful specters that filled the place.

No man has ever seen a more ghastly specter than I have seen of death in life.

All that was in their minds was this dire specter of a month's silence.

Soldiers materialized from everywhere, like dusty specters, but fell back, saluting, when they saw that officers accompanied us.

Men almost always, when in a situation analogous to his, fly to similar means of protecting themselves, in some small degree, from the pangs of remorse, and from the forebodings which stand ready to terrify and torment them at every instant in which these gloomy specters are not driven away by intoxication and revelry.

No grim specters of failure and disillusionment and frustration dog its bright path.

He had refused Kate's prayer; he had driven her to this mad search and the contagion now periling her life, or, if it were spared, leaving her a hideous specter of herself.

Rivers of human blood flowin' through ruined countries, follered by the horrible specters of pestilence, disease and famine, moral and financial ruin.

With a busy life, a gay life, we manage to forget the skeleton of the heart, rarely permitting ourselves to look upon the ominous specter which some way or other has entrenched itself within us, and which is the bane of our existence.

In turn, this pulley set in toll still another bell, two flights up in Abrahm Kantor's tenement, which overlooked the front of whizzing rails and a rear wilderness of gibbet-looking clothes-lines, dangling perpetual specters of flapping union suits in a mid-air flaky with soot.

Their offensiveness went no further than this, however, and in a moment Markham made out the bulk of a roulette in the shadows of the wood, the shaggy specter of a horse, a camp-fire, and a party of caravaners.

I replied, while my eyes fell so as not to see what was only the unfortunate woman's bloodless specter.

The silver moon just peeping over the mountain, throwing into grand relief its rugged seam-scarred sides, the calcium light; the pine trees with waving plumes, rising file on file like shrouded specters, form the stage setting; the mountain brook, on whose bosom the moon leaves a streak of molten silver, the footlights; while all the myriad voices of the night, harmoniously blended, are the orchestra.

In a few years the castle is overshadowed by the cruel specter of Louis XI., whose memory has already spoiled several charming views for us.