Philothea has glided from the apartment, as if afraid to remain in my presence.
"I am afraid I should make a poor hand at it," said Mrs. Rushton, smiling.
That he is afraid to trust banks, and hides his money in the earth.
“I am afraid he is past ransom,” said the youth, shaking his head.
I'm afraid of myself, even in spite of our affairs being so bad.
As for him—well ...