United States or Bermuda ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Miss Blake's resonant, deep voice seemed to pounce upon Sheila above the chatter of the stream which, running about three sides of the glade, was now, at the silence of the dogs, incessantly audible. "Well, if it isn't the little barmaid!" cried Miss Blake, and advanced, wiping her hand on a white apron tied absurdly over the corduroy trousers and cowboy boots.
She stepped into the quiet lamplight and paused; and Blake's first subconscious feeling was that, miraculously, the empty room had taken on life and meaning that this sudden, gracious presence filled and possessed it absolutely and by right divine.
Blake's side, prevented me from acknowledging this compliment as it deserved; so I merely bowed stiffly, without speaking.
Blake's face relaxed and his eyes twinkled. "He's what you call white, and as obstinate as they're made. Convince him that a thing's right and he'll see it done, no matter how many people it makes uncomfortable. That's why I don't see my way to encourage him."
For two hours I was up in her room last evening, and poor Will walking the veranda down below. I put Captain Blake's case as I thought a friend of his would put it as you would put it, say perhaps better in some ways for I could not forget that he sailed the Johnnie Duncan yesterday, and her winning meant so much to Will.
There passed through Gudrun's mind Blake's representation of the soul of a flea. She wanted to fit it to Loerke. Blake was a clown too. But it was necessary to answer Gerald. 'Don't you think the understanding of a flea is more interesting than the understanding of a fool? she asked. 'A fool! he repeated. 'A fool, a conceited fool a Dummkopf, she replied, adding the German word.
He was fearful of the effect of this long mental strain, but Ray seemed to divine his thoughts, and in a voice so soft and patient as to melt Blake's raging into tears, he begged him not to disturb any one. "I've got you, Blake; what do I want of a doctor?"
'T wasn't him hollered. 'T was somebody at Captain Sumter's. They got the steward over from the hospital, but they want the sergeant and some of the guard to search the back buildings." "Who wants them?" demanded the colonel. "The adjutant, sir. Lieutenant Blake's with him. There has been some prowlers and the young ladies were frightened." "They are safely home?" asked the colonel.
The poet juggles with flowers and gems, stars and spirits, lovers and meteors; we are constantly expecting him to break into some design, and are as constantly disappointed. Our bewilderment is of a peculiar kind; it is not the same, for instance, as that produced by Blake's prophetic books, where we are conscious of a great spirit fumbling after the inexpressible. Shelley is not a true mystic.
Several days dragged away before Blake's mental clarity returned to him. Then block by unstable block he seemed to rebuild a new world about him, a new world which was both narrow and empty. But it at least gave him something on which to plant his bewildered feet. That slow return to the substantialities of life was in the nature of a convalescence.
Word Of The Day