"From it, from the palm of her hand against the palm of his, from their fingers locked together, and from her wrist across his wrist to his that was as fresh as the first light air that moving toward you over the sea barely wrinkles the glassy surface of a calm, as light as a feather moved across one's lip, or a leaf falling when there is no breeze; so light that it could be felt with the touch of their fingers alone, but that was so strengthened, so intensified, and made so urgent, so aching and so strong by the hard pressure of their fingers and the close pressed palm and wrist, that it was as though a current moved up his arm and filled his whole body with an aching hollowness of wanting."Be still, my heart. One sentence. Did you notice? Props to any writer who can compose sentences of considerable length that retain – nay, elevate – one's attention from beginning to end. Milton set the bar high with the epic, 26-liner opening sentence of Paradise Lost. Lengthy, eloquent sentences give me the warm fuzzies.
--For Whom the Bell Tolls, Ernest Hemingway