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"I have given Don the money," she added. "If now he would only study!" "He shall!" said Kenny and set himself to the finishing of Brian's winter task. That sacrifice, at least, he decided, nagging Don into hours of study that were a godsend to them both, should not become an anticlimax. He had paid once in ragged money. For Joan's sake he would pay willingly again in time.
It is better that she return to the bureau, a room opposite the vestiaire where she has left her cloak." This was an anticlimax, after summoning courage for the plunge into battle; but Mary returned whence she had come, to take her place behind others who waited for tickets of admission.
She was frightened out of her wits, even into anticlimax. "But the Turkish Consul is your natural protector," said I. "You wouldn't be so cruel," she sobbed. The guttural sonority with which she rolled the "r" in "cruel" made the epithet appear one of revolting barbarity. She fixed those confounded eyes upon me. I wonder whether such a fool as I has ever lived.
Boldwood's deep attachment was a matter of great interest among all around him; but, after having been pointed out for so many years as the perfect exemplar of thriving bachelorship, his lapse was an anticlimax somewhat resembling that of St. John Long's death by consumption in the midst of his proofs that it was not a fatal disease.
While it lasted, before novelists, playwrights, professors and ministers of the Gospel abandoned their proper sphere to destroy it, that Golden Age was heaven; the New Jerusalem in which we had ceased to believe would have been in the nature of an anticlimax to any of our archangels of finance who might have attained it.
"I wish I could think that. . . . Of course, you must never tell him that I've been talking to you behind his back." The warning was an anticlimax after Lady Lane's desperate remedy of coming to Wimpole Street and presenting all her fears and suspicions for the doctor's diagnosis.
Then with an adorable and feminine anticlimax: "Dear, does your shoulder pain you now? I'm awfully heavy to be leaning on you like this!" "You're not hurting me a bit. On the contrary, your touch, your presence, are life to me!" "Quite sure you're comfy, boy?" "Positive." "And happy?" "To the limit." "I'm so glad. Because I am, too. I'm awfully sleepy, Allan.
C. Fortune seems to have favoured your mad scheme, Walter. Col. G. Or something better than fortune. Mrs. C. You have had rare and ample opportunity. You may end the farce when you please, and in triumph. Col. G. On the contrary, Clara, it would be nothing but an anticlimax to end what you are pleased to call the farce now. As if I could make a merit of nursing my own boy!
Winter refers to everything which had happened since then as to an insignificant anticlimax. But it was only when I had myself become a medical man that I was able to appreciate how entirely he is a survival of a past generation.
The end of poets' friendships with literary women is not always marked by an anticlimax. Of Margaret Fuller, Emerson wrote in the privacy of his Journal: "I have no friend whom I more wish to be immortal than she. An influence I cannot spare, but would always have at hand for recourse."
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