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"Yes, it does," retorted Goggles, "because we happen to agree with them. If I could earn five pounds a week as juvenile lead, I would never play a comic part again." "There I cannot follow you," returned Dan.
"I didn't say anything," said the lawyer, "except that I could bear testimony to the effect that your experience with flat life was similar to mine. This young person, with his customary nerve, tries to make it appear that I said you sang comic songs in the early morning." "I try to do nothing of the sort," said the Idiot. "I simply expressed my belief that in spite of what you said Mr.
"If Colonel Marten hadn't saved my father's life, I should never have been born," he said. "And you have come to thank me for that?" I said, and I did not mean to be rude. "I was told to, you see," he answered. I looked at him and we both laughed, though I went on laughing long after he had stopped. The idea of me being thanked for anybody's existence was beautifully comic.
Not that there's much likelihood, for there's no cover for the enemy here. Now, then; what are you all staring at? Are you struck comic? Never heard the word `gold' before?"
'Leave go! she said, trying to withdraw it from him. 'Not much, he answered, quite boldly. 'Garn! Leave go! But he didn't, and she really did not struggle very violently. The second act came, and she shrieked over the comic man; and her laughter rang higher than anyone else's, so that people turned to look at her, and said: 'She is enjoyin' 'erself.
The sheriff benignant; the turnkeys amused; the comic servant, obviously in liquor, brandishing his fiddlestick, and the orchestra playing "God save the Queen." Walking home through the wet streets, under the flashing gaslights, Dorothea and her companion preserve an ominous silence. Both identify themselves with the fiction they have lately witnessed: the woman pondering on Mrs.
Bret Harte and that of English writers. His fun is derived from the vagaries of huge, rough people, with the comic cruelty of the old Danes, and with the unexpected tenderness of a sentimental time. The characters of the great Texan and Californian drama are like our hackneyed friends, the Vikings, with a touch, if we may use the term, of spooniness.
He utilized the remorse with which he was tingling to give his Judas an expression which he found novel in the treatment of that character a look of such touching, appealing self-abhorrence that Beaton's artistic joy in it amounted to rapture; between the breathless moments when he worked in dead silence for an effect that was trying to escape him, he sang and whistled fragments of comic opera.
So he gives concerts in Camberwell, and places like that, and curates come from far and near, to sing about Bold Bandaleros and the Song of the Bow, and people who have escaped being curates give comic recitings, and he is sure that it does every one good, and "gives them glimpses of the Life Beautiful." He said that. Oswald heard him with his own trustworthy ears.
"Howdy," he civilly replied to a friendly greeting from Mr. Howell. The boys knew that "How" was a customary salutation among Indians, but "Howdy" struck them as being comic; Sandy laughed as he turned away his face. Mr. Bryant lingered while the slow-moving oxen plodded their way along the road, and the boys, too, halted to hear what the dark-skinned man had to say.
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