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Even the more important of the two physicians pursed his lips into a smile, and proffered his snuff-box to his colleague, who, smothering with laughter, whispered: "Are we not capital actors?" Meanwhile M. Cambray drove rapidly in the Marquis de Fervlans's carriage through the streets of Paris. He was buried in thought. He glanced only now and then from the window.
The king, loth to leave this for the benefit of posterity, and greatly grudging others the use of it, had buried it deep in the earth, meaning, since he had no hopes of his son's improvement, to debar everyone else from using it.
Through me, men and women came here to settle and make a home! Through me they lose to my shame!" The Doge buried his face in his hands and drew a deep breath more pitiful than a sob, which, as it went free of the lungs, seemed to leave an empty ruin of what had once been a splendid edifice.
The trunks were covered with snow but remained attached to their stumps, where they had broken off. When I cut into these stumps with the ax, the head buried itself and could with difficulty be drawn and, investigating the reason, I found them filled with pitch.
Her own husband had been a horse-doctor, farmer, and sportsman of a kind, and she herself was now a farmer of a kind; and she had only resided in the parish during the three years since she had been married to, and buried, Palass Poucette.
'Yes, said he, 'that was Miss Tottenham, and, as is well known, she was confined mad in that room, and died there, and, they say, was buried in that closet. "Time wore on and another generation arose, another owner possessed the property the grandson of my friend. In the year 185 , he being then a child came with his mother, the Marchioness of Ely, and his tutor, the Rev.
Eventually the dead disappeared a little while before the Rawlings gave up the farm, and it was supposed that the old farmer had buried them in the night-time in one of the neighbouring chalk-pits, but the spot has never been discovered. One of the stories of the old Wiltshire days I picked up was from an old woman, aged eighty-seven, in the Wilton workhouse.
At last he staggered to his feet, tottered about for a step or two because his head was so dizzy, and then began to help in the search. He did not dare to tell the others what he feared, but when he finally stumbled against it, half buried in the sand about twenty yards away from camp, he found that the worst had happened. The canteen was empty.
'Don't leave me; take me with you, Marjory dear, dear Marjory, don't go! But there was only firelit space where she had stood, though the sound of her pleading, pathetic voice was still in the air. Ormsby remained for a few minutes leaning against a desk, with his face buried in his arms, and I heard him struggling with his sobs. At last he rose, and left the room without a word.
"I don't know. I haven't had time to think." "I might find a place for you in the store. We wouldn't like to have you go away." "Thank you, Joe. You are very kind. But there's no chance for me around here. I'll take the money, and go somewhere. But first I must see Uncle Peter buried. Will you help me?" "To be sure we will. Was he your only relation?" "He was not my relation at all."
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