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And up I puffed and puffed, blowing off finally with: “After all I must be first-rate. No second-rate mind could have experienced such an intensity of feeling so . . . purely.”


时间:2020-11-24 23:35:47 作者:使徒行者风犬少年的天空 浏览量:42165

  laughed Rose, taking a turn about the room as a vent for the joyfulemotions that made her eyes shine. All of a sudden she stoppedand asked soberly"If Phebe goes to school who will do her work? I'm willing, if Ican.""Come here and I'll tell you a secret. Dolly's 'bones' are getting sotroublesome, and her dear old temper so bad, that the aunts havedecided to pension her off and let her go and live with herdaughter, who has married very well. I saw her this week, andshe'd like to have her mother come, so in the spring we shall havea grand change, and get a new cook and chamber-girl if any can befound to suit our honoured relatives.""Oh, me! how can I ever get on without Phebe? Couldn't she stay,just so I could see her? I'd pay her board rather than have her go,I'm so fond of her."How Dr. Alec laughed at that proposal, and how satisfied Rosewas when he explained that Phebe was still to be her maid, with noduties except such as she could easily perform betweenschool-hours.

Sweetwater bowed.

Wilson glanced toward the fire, where Bartley’s profile was still wreathed in cigar smoke that curled up more and more slowly. His shoulders were sunk deep in the cushions and one hand hung large and passive over the arm of his chair. He had slipped on a purple velvet smoking-coat. His wife, Wilson surmised, had chosen it. She was clearly very proud of his good looks and his fine color. But, with the glow of an immediate interest gone out of it, the engineer’s face looked tired, even a little haggard. The three lines in his forehead, directly above the nose, deepened as he sat thinking, and his powerful head drooped forward heavily. Although Alexander was only forty-three, Wilson thought that beneath his vigorous color he detected the dulling weariness of on-coming middle age.

"You have a nice home, no doubt."

Desiring truth, awaiting it, laboriously distilling a few words, for ever desiring —(a cry starts to the left, another to the right. Wheels strike divergently. Omnibuses conglomerate in conflict)— for ever desiring —(the clock asseverates with twelve distinct strokes that it is midday; light sheds gold scales; children swarm)— for ever desiring truth. Red is the dome; coins hang on the trees; smoke trails from the chimneys; bark, shout, cry “Iron for sale”— and truth?

"I do not know by what right you ask these questions, Baroness Brown," she answered slowly; and her listener cringed under the old appellation which recalled the miserable days when she had kept a lodging-house--days she had almost forgotten during the last decade of life.


“Ah, women — THEY must be loved, at any price!” said Lilly. “And if you just don’t want to love them — and tell them so — what a crime.”

'What for, I'd like to know?' said Rosalie boldly. 'You can't say I have stolen it.'

1.“Oh, yes! she acts beautifully,” says our friend his Excellency, who along with Baron von Punter and Tagrag, used very seldom to miss coming to our box.


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What had happened afterward we could only guess. How long had the new sea-cavern city survived? Was it still down there, a stony corpse in eternal blackness? Had the subterranean waters frozen at last? To what fate had the ocean-bottom cities of the outer world been delivered? Had any of the Old Ones shifted north ahead of the creeping ice cap? Existing geology shows no trace of their presence. Had the frightful Mi-Go been still a menace in the outer land world of the north? Could one be sure of what might or might not linger, even to this day, in the lightless and unplumbed abysses of earth’s deepest waters? Those things had seemingly been able to withstand any amount of pressure — and men of the sea have fished up curious objects at times. And has the killer-whale theory really explained the savage and mysterious scars on antarctic seals noticed a generation ago by Borchgrevingk?


Returning back again another way, he lost himself at the foot of the hill in new and deserted suburb streets — unfinished streets of seemingly unfinished houses. Then a sort of boulevard where bourgeois families were taking the Sunday afternoon walk: stout papas, stout, pallid mamas in rather cheap black fur, little girls very much dressed, and long lads in short socks and round sailor caps, ribbons fluttering. Alien they felt, alien, alien, as a bourgeois crowd always does, but particularly a foreign, Sunday-best bourgeois crowd. Aaron wandered and wandered, finding the tram terminus and trying blank, unfinished street after street. He had a great disinclination to ask his way.


I set down and thort the matter over. Why shud I be turned out in this fashun ses I to mesilf. It’s a shame, a crool shame it is. It was thin Mr. Mulvaney cum sontring in and befure I know wat I’m about I’m telling him the story of me sorrers.


The Arabs told me I could reach the N’yanza in fifteen to seventeen marches, and I returned in sixteen, although I had to take a circuitous line instead of a direct one. The provisions, too, just held out. I took a supply for six weeks, and completed that time this day. The total road-distance there and back is 452 miles, which, admitting that the Arabs make sixteen marches of it, gives them a marching rate of more than fourteen miles a — day.


  Late one afternoon she was sitting behind the counter, wrappedin her shawl, and wondering how soon she might draw down the blindsand retreat into the comparative cosiness of the back room. Shewas not thinking of anything in particular, except perhaps in ahazy way of the lady with the puffed sleeves, who after her longeclipse had reappeared the day before in sleeves of a new cut, andbought some tape and needles. The lady still wore mourning, butshe was evidently lightening it, and Ann Eliza saw in this the hopeof future orders. The lady had left the shop about an hour before,walking away with her graceful step toward Fifth Avenue. She hadwished Ann Eliza good day in her usual affable way, and Ann Elizathought how odd it was that they should have been acquainted solong, and yet that she should not know the lady's name. From thisconsideration her mind wandered to the cut of the lady's newsleeves, and she was vexed with herself for not having noted itmore carefully. She felt Miss Mellins might have liked to knowabout it. Ann Eliza's powers of observation had never beenas keen as Evelina's, when the latter was not too self-absorbed toexert them. As Miss Mellins always said, Evelina could "takepatterns with her eyes": she could have cut that new sleeve out ofa folded newspaper in a trice! Musing on these things, Ann Elizawished the lady would come back and give her another look at thesleeve. It was not unlikely that she might pass that way, for shecertainly lived in or about the Square. Suddenly Ann Elizaremarked a small neat handkerchief on the counter: it must havedropped from the lady's purse, and she would probably come back toget it. Ann Eliza, pleased at the idea, sat on behind the counterand watched the darkening street. She always lit the gas as lateas possible, keeping the box of matches at her elbow, so that ifany one came she could apply a quick flame to the gas-jet. Atlength through the deepening dusk she distinguished a slim darkfigure coming down the steps to the shop. With a little warmth ofpleasure about her heart she reached up to light the gas. "I dobelieve I'll ask her name this time," she thought. She raised theflame to its full height, and saw her sister standing in the door.

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