"Slit" Quotes from Famous Books
 ... ran down the centre, finding its way among piled masses of fallen rock. On each side the cliffs towered so high that only a mere slit of sky was visible. It was as wild and gloomy a spot ...
— On Land And Sea At The Dardanelles • Thomas Charles Bridges
... strong hide slippers bound to his ankles by strips of leather, a part of a filthy red shirt without sleeves, a hat stolen from a scarecrow, nothing else whatever, except the mud of many days' gathering. His shirt was torn all down the back in a great slit which he had tried to secure by what the sailors call "Bristol buttons," i.e. pieces of string. The red flannel hung from him so as to show his back, all criss-crossed with flogging scars. I knew at once from ...
— Martin Hyde, The Duke's Messenger • John Masefield
... things. And now, Master Jack, how do you think these birds paid back your grandma for all her kindness? Why, as soon as ever the frost was gone, and the weather became warmer, and the yellow crocuses came into bloom, if these very birds, or some of them at least, did not slit the flowers all to pieces with their bills—that's what they did. The ground was covered with bits of flowers.—Do you know Mrs. Jones who lives on the green, ...
— Woodside - or, Look, Listen, and Learn. • Caroline Hadley
... of which the waters of the Monks' River, which comes tumbling from a glen to the east, whirl, boil, and hiss in a horrid pot or cauldron, called in the language of the country Twll yn y graig, or the hole in the rock, in a manner truly tremendous. On your right is a slit, probably caused by volcanic force, through which the waters after whirling in the cauldron eventually escape. The slit is wonderfully narrow, considering its altitude which is very great—considerably upwards of a hundred feet. Nearly above you, crossing the slit, which is partially wrapt in ...
— Wild Wales - Its People, Language and Scenery • George Borrow
... the curtains, settled himself in an armchair, read his other letters deliberately, and glanced at the headlines of the papers, before he carefully slit the envelope that had seemed to press his eyeballs. The time had come for self-discipline, consistently exercised. Moreover, he was afraid of it. What—why had she written to him? Why hadn't she telephoned? Was this a tardy dismissal? His ...
— Black Oxen • Gertrude Franklin Horn Atherton
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