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Not all of it? 'Every word. 'How could you? There was reproach in her accent. 'It did come hard; I'm a little out of practice. 'Did you tell her about about me? 'I had to, Constance. When it came to the necessity of squaring all of Gustavo's yarns, my imagination gave out. Anyway, I had to tell her out of self-defence; she was so superior.
But she went to the one nearest to her and laid the case of jewels on the counter before him. "I wish," she said, in her soft low voice, and with the pretty accent, "I wish that you should buy these." The man stared at her, and at the ornaments, and then at her again. "I beg pardon, miss," he said. Elizabeth repeated her request. "I will speak to Mr.
"But, you see, I did come out for a walk...for exercise, as you English say." I smiled approvingly, and she added an unexpected remark "It is a glorious day." Her voice, slightly harsh, but fascinating with its masculine and bird-like quality, had the accent of spontaneous conviction. I was glad of it.
'And the end of it all, Robert? she said 'the end of it? Never did he forget the note of that question, the desolation of it, the indefinable change of accent. It drove him into a harsh abruptness of reply. 'The end of it so far must be, if I remain an honest man, that I must give up my living, that I must cease to be a minister of the Church of England.
"Isn't it queer," Doris went on, "how vivid a thing personality is? Now Myra and Mr. Lawanne are definite, colorable entities to me. So is Charlie Mills, quiet as he is. And yet I can't make Bland seem anything more than simply a voice with a slightly English accent." "Well, there must be something to him, or she wouldn't have married him," Hollister remarked. "Perhaps.
In the beginning of March, 1757, I received a letter from my friend Madame Manzoni, which she sent to me by a young man of good appearance, with a frank and high-born air, whom I recognized as a Venetian by his accent. He was young Count Tiretta de Trevisa, recommended to my care by Madame Manzoni, who said that he would tell me his story, which I might be sure would be a true one.
Three shells had fallen within ten yards of it. Two had not burst, and the other, shrapnel, had exploded in the earth. The owner came out, a trifling, wizened old man in the usual Belgian cap and blue overalls. We had a talk, using the lingua franca of French, English with a Scottish accent, German, and the few words of Dutch I could remember.
"'Tis madness!" he replied, in an accent of amazement and protest. "You would be sure to be seen in the moonlight." "The moon is sinking," I answered. "'Twill be down behind the cliffs in an hour." "But the sharks! These waters are infested with them." "'Tis the only way," I said with resolution, "and sharks or no sharks I must make the attempt.
I liked him from the first because after we had exchanged a few words he exclaimed incredulously: "What nonsense! Any one could tell by your accent that you are an American." He explained that, when at the university, in the same pension with him were three Americans. "The staff are making a mistake," he said earnestly. "They will regret it."
A heavy, reluctant voice replied after a pause of over a minute. "This is Consolidation cruiser Sixteen. You are breaking the law, Sagittarius. Your missile ports are open, and they are pointing at me. Close them at once, or I will report this." The suave voice, with its hint of French accent, replied, "Ah, my friend! Do not be alarmed.
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