It was a warm night, the windows were open and a big pale moth fluttered about the candelabra at the table's center.

Everyone was looking at him curiously, all their white shirts like pale moths in the dark fern-forest shadiness of the classroom.

Blue butterflies twirled in front of his face, pale moths flew out.

The anger she had felt before was a pale moth of a feeling compared with the new anger that came now.

In the summer dusk the pale hatched moths float out over the riverside.

Dozens of big pale moths whirred incessantly against it.

A pale purple moth danced across the swamp.

She went slowly down the lane, a pale moth of a girl, hardly knowing whether she wanted to see a letter or not.

With an instant change of direction it swooped on a pale moth, captured it and flew off, lost against the darkness of the trees.

But in some areas the pale moths returned to prominence before the lichens that Dr. Kettlewell argued were their camouflage.