[…] while the wan haggard face watched him above the faint triangle of lace at wrists and throat from the too tall chair in which she remembered a crucified child; and the voice not ceasing but vanishing into and then out of the long intervals like a stream, a trickle running from patch to patch of dried sand, and the ghost mused with shadowy docility as if it were a voice which he haunted where a more fortunate one would have had a house (1.1)
And she chose you because your grandfather was the nearest thing to a friend which Sutpen ever had in this country, and she probably believes that Sutpen told your grandfather something about himself and her, about that engagement that did not engage, that troth which failed to plight. (1.8).
[…] the invoked ghost of the man whom she could neither forgive nor revenge herself upon began to assume a quality almost of solidity, permanence. (1.9)