waken


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See: foment
References in classic literature ?
But after a few days spent almost entirely out of doors she wakened one morning knowing what it was to be hungry, and when she sat down to her breakfast she did not glance disdainfully at her porridge and push it away, but took up her spoon and began to eat it and went on eating it until her bowl was empty.
So often this mood would come to Ona, in the nighttime, when something wakened her; she would lie, afraid of the beating of her own heart, fronting the blood-red eyes of the old primeval terror of life.
There was plenty to do before he got all the others wakened, for the two doors of the castle were crowded with them all the day long.
She recalled the first morning she had wakened in that little porch room, when the sunshine had crept in on her through the blossom- drift of the old Snow Queen.
ON THE MORNING of the twenty-second I wakened with a start.
Several times the poor boy fell asleep where he sat, wakened with a start, and began to pray again.
I WAS wakened--indeed, we were all wakened, for I could see even the sentinel shake himself together from where he had fallen against the door-post--by a clear, hearty voice hailing us from the margin of the wood:
I was joined on the stairs by the Story Girl, who said she had wakened and, not feeling like going to sleep again, thought she might as well get up.
I wakened up while it was calling, and it seemed so real I could hardly believe it was a dream.
His peevish reproofs wakened in her a naughty delight to provoke him: she was never so happy as when we were all scolding her at once, and she defying us with her bold, saucy look, and her ready words; turning Joseph's religious curses into ridicule, baiting me, and doing just what her father hated most - showing how her pretended insolence, which he thought real, had more power over Heathcliff than his kindness: how the boy would do HER bidding in anything, and HIS only when it suited his own inclination.
Let us waken slowly to the wardrobe slipping its moorings, to the buoy music wire hangers make, to belongings and hand-me-downs setting sail, to Holy Marys, periwinkles, shells making themselves at home on our bedroom floor among hair strands, dust balls, shed skin, and accept from the hands of our one neighbor who crosses from the mainland in a light craft fashioned from sallies and the skin of a single cow, the leaves he claims grow there in abundance and passes out on the quay like tender.