A few words more and I lay aside the pen for ever.
For a moment the words lay on her tongue like ball bearings, ready to roll out.
The words lay flat on her tongue, but she forced herself to say them.
The words lay there invisibly on the table between them.
His words lay in the group, and the group was silent.
The words lay like ground glass in the back of her throat.
He had to curb his tongue, on which the words lay ready to leap: No!
He fitted them one to another as a poet fits together the words of his lays.
The last word, thick with irony, lay heavily in the air after he spoke.
And what a curse it was that which her words had laid upon him!
