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The horse stopped. "Come!" yelled Thal despairingly. "This way! Quick!" Hoddan got out a stun-pistol. Sitting erect, frowning a little in his concentration, he began to take pot-shots at the charging small horde. Three of them got close enough to be blistered when stun-pistol bolts hit them. Others toppled from their saddles at distances ranging from one hundred yards to twenty.
Our surgeon left the shed to chat with his comrade; they conversed quietly, while the assistants sat down to drink a cup of wine, and the Russian rolled his eyes despairingly. "See, Duchêne; you have only to go down the street, opposite that well, do you see?" "Very well indeed." "Just opposite you will see the canteen." "Very good; thank you; I am off."
Burton, as he caught sight of a woman's figure bidding farewell in a lighted doorway. Mr. Stiles replied with a stentorian roar, and Mr. Burton, clinging despairingly to his jigging friend lest a worse thing should happen, cast an imploring glance at Mrs. Dutton as they danced by. The evening was still light enough for him to see her face, and he piloted the corybantic Mr.
Perhaps he had gone away so as to get rid of his little boy, who was only a trouble and made it difficult for him to get a situation. Pelle felt despairingly convinced that it must be so, as, crying, he went off with the sack.
And now" Denis spread out his hands, palms upwards, despairingly "now I know what carminative really means." "Well, what DOES it mean?" asked Mr. Scogan, a little impatiently. "Carminative," said Denis, lingering lovingly over the syllables, "carminative.
"Oh, don't bother me!" "Why, what's the matter with you? Why do we all sit round, anyhow, so solemnly? We could have a drop of something good once in a while, couldn't we?" Hürlin gave ear for a moment with delight, and his tired eyes glistened; then he shook his head despairingly, he turned his empty pockets inside out, and assumed an expression of suffering.
Would he dog her always? she asked despairingly, and seemed to glimpse a vision of all her future life stretched out before her, with always the form and face of the burly blacksmith pursuing her. "Come on, kid, an' kick in," he continued. "It's the good old summer time, an' that's the time to get married." "But I'm not going to marry you," she protested. "I've told you a thousand times already."
Where had stood a dense stretch of primordial woodland, now only the skeleton arms of the pines reached up towards the heavens as though appealing despairingly for the vengeance due to them. The day was gray. The air was still, so still. It reeked with the taint of burning. It reeked with something else.
Down went Gypsy's work, and a whole handful of pink and white blossoms came fluttering into Winnie's eyes. "How am I going to sew?" said Gypsy, despairingly; "you're so exactly in the right place to be hit. I don't believe Mrs. Surly herself could help snowballing you." "Mrs. Surly snowball! Why, I never saw her. Wouldn't it be just funny?" "Winnie Breynton, will you please to go away?"
Gazing despairingly in every direction she suddenly perceived the fallen trunk of a tree lying half in and half out of the brawling torrent it was green with slippery moss and offered but a dangerous foothold, nevertheless she resolved to attempt it. "I said I would die for him!" she thought "and I will!"
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