Methought anon you saw me go down with three pikes in my breast.
Her cries and pleadings were being smothered down on his breast.
The coverlet dropped from her breast; her hand was suspended with stiff fingers.
Then with astonishing clearness he saw her hand resting against her breast.
She hid her face on his breast against his tickly coat, and cried.
He had leaned back in the chair and gathered his hat close to his breast, crushing it.
No, her head was fallen, and he saw the gleam of her hand at her breast.
They left it on her breast, in the coffin, and it went with that guilty woman to the tomb.
But a sudden unaccustomed gust of affection swirled in the breast of the lad.
Into the breast pocket of his coat he dived and brought up a wallet.