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If I were such a woman, I'd glory in clipping my life of everything but the things I needed, and living like one of my own children, as simply as a lot of peasants!" "And no one would ever be any the wiser," said Mrs. Brown. "I don't know. Quiet little isolated lives have a funny way of getting out into the light.
The Tin Owl, which had guided their way during the night, now found the sunshine very trying to his big eyes, so he shut them tight and perched upon the back of the little Brown Bear, which carried the Owl's weight with ease.
"Go on," said French at length; "what are you afraid of?" His tone was unfortunate. "Afraid," said Brown quickly, "not of you, but of myself." He paused a few moments, as if taking counsel with himself, then, with a sudden resolve, he spoke in tones quiet, deliberate, and almost stern.
It represented a full-length portrait of a young man, apparently just past his minority. The side of the figure was alone exhibited, and the face glanced at the spectator over the shoulder, in a favourite attitude of Vandyke. It was a countenance of ideal beauty. A profusion of dark brown curls was dashed aside from a lofty forehead of dazzling brilliancy.
The master of Westover was a treasure house of sprightly lore. Within ten minutes he had visited Palestine, paid his compliments to the ancient herbalists, and landed again in his own coach, to find in his late audience a somewhat distraite daughter and a friend in a brown study.
Just then Billy Mink saw a little brown head swimming along one edge of the Smiling Pool. "Hello, Jerry Muskrat!" shouted Billy Mink. "Hello your own self, Billy Mink," shouted Jerry Muskrat, "Come in and have a swim; the water's fine!" "Good," said Billy Mink. "We'll have a swimming party."
Her eyes, a clear bluish gray, inherited from the Lombard strain in her mother, were not so much fancied as her sister's brown; but at least they were more uncommon and contrasted nicely with her straight dark bang. Her shoulders and arms she surveyed with frank healthy approbation.
He was very explicit with Jane Brown. "Your man's wrong, that's all there is about it," he said. "I can't say anything and you can't. But he's wrong. That's an operative case. The Staff knows it." "Then, why doesn't the Staff do it?" The Senior Surgical Interne was still feeling very tall. He looked down at her from a great distance. "Because, dear child," he said, "it's your man's case.
Ruscino was now to all others a mere poverty-stricken place, brown and gaunt and sorrowful, scorching in the sun, with only the river beneath it to keep it clean and alive.
The road and the stream were battling for mastery, and the stream had the better of it. We splashed and waded, and the merry boy, perched behind me, chattered and laughed. He showed me where Simon Thompson had bought a bit of ground and a home; but his daughter Lana, a plump, brown, slow girl, was not there. She had married a man and a farm twenty miles away.
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