clasp

“Oh, Villefort!” cried Renée, clasping her hands, and looking towards her lover with piteous earnestness, “be merciful on this the day of our betrothal.”

Barker grew paler, and his great, strong hands were clasped convulsively together.

He sat forward, his hands clasped and his forearms on his knees, with an answering smile upon his bold, handsome face.

But Anne, with her elbows on the window sill, her soft cheek laid against her clasped hands, and her eyes filled with visions, looked out unheedingly across city roof and spire to that glorious dome of sunset sky and wove her dreams of a possible future from the golden tissue of youth’s own optimism.