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This was the marquis's first observation: "Good Gad! are all the girls in America as pretty as you are?"
"That I am," cried Theodora playfully, stamping her pretty foot. "I believe in my Order, as Ouida calls it, the more because it's all new and delightful."
“Is it the frog ater ye’re maning, Delia deer?” ses he.
Bantock used to relate this story with the greatest glee, and in the course of time the yarn grew to colossal dimensions. It became epical. One was told how his visitor was heard calling: “Bantock! Bantock! I’ve taken your Queen,” how strange noises proceeded from dark rooms, and how, next morning, his visitor, having sat up all night, was found wide awake trying the effect of certain combinations of moves on the board. When a thing is said three times, it is, of course, true, but Bantock never told exactly the same story three times. He believes, I think, that consistency is the refuge and the consolation of the dull-witted.
were proposed as to the nature of plants, their organisation or mutual relations; the only point of interest was the knowledge of individual forms and of their medicinal virtues.
She put up her hands as though to shield herself from violence.
Jorgenson swore fluently and with passion.
“Yes, always a good chap, and so very patient,” he murmured to himself. “Do you know, Cumberland, I had to work—yes, to work—at that Symphony in the train. And I define work as doing something that gives you no pleasure. Talking about work, I must post these before I forget.”
Retief pulled him back. "Sit tight and look pleased, Georges. Never give the opposition a hint of your true feelings. Pretend you're a goat lover—and hand me one of your cigars."
At length he said, slowly, as if to himself, "I would give ten years of my life to be on board that frigate with the men I would choose and a fair wind for Scotland. To think of my poor brother longing and wondering why some support does not come, and I idle here with empty hands," and something like a sob ended his words.
"Want to give me the word on this romp of yours?" Hartford asked.
“In the infant town of Knox the houses are irregular and interspersed. It was County Court day when I came. The town was confused with a promiscuous throng of every denomination. Some talked, some sang, and mostly all did profanely swear. I stood aghast, my soul shrank back to hear the horrid oaths
1."I don't believe it! I am sure you are aching to wire and say you are coming. If you are pretending that you don't want to go because you think I shall be lonely, you can put that out of your head at once. I shan't miss you a bit."
2.“Good heavens!” I cried. “You mean that the lime which destroyed the body would be powerless to affect the metal of the ring?”>
She stole a side glance at her companion as they moved off, that gave her a much better idea of him than she had before. He was very tall and certainly distinguished looking, but there was something, an intense blackness around the eye, and a bluish tinge about the full black beard that gave him a sinister look. As they passed through the throng of splendid women and thorough-bred looking men, a very old man, much braced and padded, who stood up stiffly as if he feared he could not get up again if he sat down, and whose breast was covered by a broad blue ribbon, touched Sir John on the arm and mumbled something in his ear. Sir John, smiling, said to Theodora:
inclination, to pity the head of the house, had been gradually diverted; he was not on closer acquaintance, a figure that called for pity; and once or twice Arthur had had a strange sensation that was almost akin to fear. There was, indeed, something about old Kenyon that was not quite human, something more than that indescribable appearance of immortal old age. He appeared so intimidatingly detached from the common cares and interests of human life. He had boasted of his power to keep in touch with contemporary movements and affairs, but he was never disturbed by them. Nearly every morning Arthur spent an hour in the old man's company, and in that time he usually discussed the morning's news, but never as yet, had Arthur seen him display the least emotion with regard to any question of politics or finance. He would speak of the Irish situation, the starvation of Austria, the threat of labour troubles, the cost of living, or the burden of the Income Tax as if they were incidents in the reign of George IV. rather than in that of George V. And if Arthur himself gave any sign of heat or partisanship the old man would regard him with the cold speculative eye of one who watches the lives and furies of infusoria under a microscope. He seemed to have completely lost the warm-blooded human passion for interference in other people's affairs.
It was some minutes before Mrs Clarendon spoke. Her eyes slowly filled with tears, as she kept them fixed upon Frances. The blow went very deep; it struck at illusions which were perhaps more dear than anything in her actual existence. “You heard of me for the first time from—— Oh, that was cruel, that was cruel of Edward,” she cried, clasping her hands together—“of me for the first time—and you had to ask Markham! And I, that was his favourite sister, and that never forgot him, never for a day!”