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He untied the strings and opened it, exhibiting a number of large water-color drawings on bristol-board, most of them belonging to his student days in Paris, some made in Holland and Normandy. The sight of them, recalling his married life with Diane, awoke unpleasant memories. He moved away and lighted a cigarette.
We'll wait till then. They would hear or smell us if we went over now." I ate one of the three pears I had brought for tiffin and smoked a cigarette. The hunter stretched himself out comfortably upon the grass and pulled away at his pipe. It was very pleasant there, for we were protected from the wind, and the sun was delightfully warm.
THAT night when he cried aloud at the memory of his furtive cigarette, the bishop was staying with a rich man named Garstein Fellows.
At my wits' ends, I took out a cigarette and placed it between his lips. His whole face changed. He took hold of the cigarette delicately between two bony fingers; he had a way of holding it which was a marvel of aristocratic elegance.
By and by he came down, smoking a cigarette, and was met by this woman flourishing her case-knife. He took it from her, after getting a cut in his dressing-gown, put it in his pocket, and went on with his cigarette. He keeps it with an inscription: "Donne a Alphonse Karr Par Madame Louise Colet.... Dans le dos. "Lively little female!
That is the way of all those 'select' bodies. As Napoleon said, 'Le monde vient a celui qui sait attendre." The little Doctor's countenance now showed the most lively and eager interest. "You quite believe that, Monsieur Gervase? You are entirely sure of what you said just now?" "What did I say? I forget!" smiled Gervase, lighting a cigarette and beginning to smoke it leisurely.
Phebe crushed the cigarette in her fingers. Suddenly she was nervous. "It's natural I have changed a lot," she said. "If you hear me saying anything rough pinch me." Richmond Braley was standing beside his house in the muddy clothes in which he had labored on the roads, and Mrs. Braley and Hannah came eagerly forward. Behind them sounded Susan's racking cough.
"Will you tie that for me, Condy," she asked, rising and turning the back of her head toward him, the ends of the veil held under her fingers. "Not too tight. Condy, don't pull it so tight. There, there, that will do. Have you everything that belongs to you? I know you'll go away and leave something here. There's your cigarette case, and your book, and of course the banjo."
Ten days later, shivering, with the collar of his thin coat turned high, he burst into the studio of Carolus White at the top of a tall building in Tenth Street, New York City. Carolus White was smoking a cigarette and frying sausages over an oil stove. He was only twenty-three, and had noble theories about art.
Margaret laughed and said, "But this is going to be far better than the debate itself." Helen recovered herself and laughed too. "No, I won't go on," she declared. "I'll just put our special case to Mr. Wilcox." "About Mr. Bast? Yes, do. He'll be more lenient to a special case. "But, Mr. Wilcox, do first light another cigarette. It's this.
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