United States or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
But of course that wears off by and by; it isn't well to take life too seriously, you know, and I don't think it'll be long before you come to feel that The Captive isn't natural or possible or desirable either." The publisher was smoking a cigar. He puffed for a moment and then he asked, "What are you doing now?" "Nothing just at present," said I.
"Because I know the man who DID kill him," she said quietly, "and it was not you." Kent made a mighty effort to appear calm. He reached for a cigar from the box that Cardigan had placed on his bed, and nibbled the end of it. "Has some one else been confessing?" he asked. She shook her head the slightest bit. "Did you er see this other gentleman kill John Barkley?" he insisted. "No."
The stranger broke off the end of his cigar, and lit it. The boy lifted the heavy wood from the stranger's knee and drew yet nearer him. In the dog-like manner of his drawing near there was something superbly ridiculous, unless one chanced to view it in another light. Presently the stranger said, whiffing, "Do something for me." The boy started up. "No; stay where you are.
She recalled him vividly as he had stood before her then, a cigar in one hand and a lighted match in the other, his eyes fixed upon her with a singularly disquieting look that was tinged, however, with amusement. "I'm coming to see you," he announced. "Do be careful," she had cried, "you'll burn yourself!" "That," he answered, tossing away the match, "is to be expected." She laughed nervously.
Bascomb, having his cigar lighted, seemed to prefer strolling in the rear by himself. "Now, I don't want to give you any wrong impressions, Mr. Reade," went on Mr. Prenter. "Mr. Bascomb is the head of our company, but other directors represent more of the stock of the company than he does. I am one of them. Sometimes Mr.
The sound of that voice and the suspicion it instantly begot added to his furious hatred of North, for he had long suspected that something more than friendship existed between Marshall Langham's wife and Marshall Langham's friend. "Damn him!" thought the gambler. "I'll fix him yet!" And he puffed at his cigar viciously.
The two men stared at each other for a moment. Then Welton laughed. "I can hire a heap of men for a thousand dollars," said he, rising. "Goodnight." Plant rumbled something. The two went out, leaving the fat man chewing his cigar and scowling angrily after them. Once clear of the premises Welton laughed loudly. "Well, my son, that's your first shy at the government official, isn't it?
What refuge could there be from one who spoke the truth so plainly? And how do you think I got out of it?" asked Mr. Armstrong of me, John Smith, who, as he told the story, felt almost in as great confusion and misery as the narrator must have been in at that time, although now he looked amazingly jolly, and breathed away at his cigar with the slow exhalations of an epicure.
"And yet, perhaps you may as well," added he, communing a moment with himself: "you may tell him his brother Frank, Wild Frank, it is, who wishes him to come." The old man departed on his errand, and he who call'd himself Wild Frank, toss'd his nearly smoked cigar out of the window, and folded his arms in thought.
Our new acquaintance made himself as agreeable as he could, conducting the ladies to churches and convents, and frequently passing the afternoon drinking with the governor, who was fond of a glass of brandy and water and a cigar, as the new acquaintance also was—no, I remember, he was fond of gin and water, and did not smoke.
Word Of The Day