She darted, bronze, to the backmost corner, flattening her face against the pane in a halo of hurried breath.
"Ulysses"
James Joyce
They whispered to one another; and in the backmost rank, I saw my friend Johann, leaning against the portal of the door and stanching with a handkerchief the blood which flowed from a wound in his cheek.
"The Prisoner of Zenda"
Anthony Hope