I had found sublimity and wonder in the dread heights and precipices, in the roaring torrents, and the wastes of ice and snow; but as yet, they had taught me nothing else.
This lady — dressed in an off-hand, easy style; bringing her nose and her forefinger together, with the difficulty I have described; standing with her head necessarily on one side, and, with one of her sharp eyes shut up, making an uncommonly knowing face — after ogling Steerforth for a few moments, broke into a torrent of words.
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Don’t let the torrent of melancholy and drear philosophy drown our world.
Ray Bradbury -- Fahrenheit 451
Her words come out in a torrent, as if she’s been hoarding them all for this moment.