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Sir Stephen stood a little way off and looked at him for a minute, then he advanced slowly, half timidly and ashamedly, and laid a trembling hand on Stafford's shoulder. "Forgive me, Stafford!" he said, in a low, broken voice. "I was obliged to tell you.
Prosper laughed delightedly, stretching up his arms in full enjoyment of her splendid ignorance. "The Chinaman? Does he look so strange to you?" "Is that what he is? I I didn't know." She smiled rather sadly and ashamedly. "I'm awful ignorant, Mr. Gael. I just can read an' I've only read two books." She flushed and her pupils grew large.
Oliver and Clem and Rassette and Weidermeyer are going to meet t'gether in Mr. Oliver's room at Rassette's house. Ye c'n see them there." "Well, maybe I will," said George, softening, as he left them. "What's the conference about?" asked Susan pleasantly. "What's the don't tell me ye don't know THAT!" Mrs. Cudahy said, eying her shrewdly. "I knew there was a strike " Susan began ashamedly.
"It never is," he retorted, and repeated grimly and exultingly, "You've never looked at yourself before." She looked obliquely at her reflection and ran her hands ashamedly up and down her body, and tried for a word and failed. "Are you not beautiful?" he said. "Imphm.
He had now a uniform and even delight in creation. At this period of his life art was to him no more than a fine instrument upon which he played like a virtuoso. He was ashamedly conscious of becoming a dilettante.
The youthful runaway ashamedly lowered his head in reality he adored music with all the fulness of his cruel, faunlike nature. To this day Pinton could never explain why he looked out of that pantry window. He had reached his home in a hungry condition. He was tired and dead broke, so he had resolved to forage.
"You're dead sure you know all that was going on in that palace?" he demanded. He wanted merely the reassurance of her answer, but to his surprise and growing alarm she hesitated, looking at him half fearfully and half ashamedly. "Oh, I I don't know about that," she murmured, with evasive eyes. "An American girl very light hair yes?" "Very light hair Oh, good God!"
"No," said the doctor ashamedly. "They were blueskins." "How bad was the famine?" "Who knows? Any number may have starved! And we kept a squadron of armed ships in their skies for years to keep them from spreading the plague, we said. And some of us believed it!" The doctor's tone was purest irony. "Lately," he said, "there's been a move for economy in our government.
Can you even imagine what Schubert's "Linden-Tree" might be when perfectly sung? Is it an hallucination, then, that possesses me some subtle disturbance of the nerve-centres sapping the sources of will-power, enfeebling even the physical energies? I do not know. Sometimes I am ashamedly conscious that I do not greatly care.
She tried being proud in a dozen different expressive attitudes for ten minutes or so: Then she suddenly relaxed and went over to the telephone, smiling rather ashamedly at herself. "Hotel Rosario?" "Yes." "Can I speak to Mr. Oliver Crowe? He is staying there isn't he?" A pause full of little jingling sounds. "Yes, he's staying here but he hasn't come in yet this evening.
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