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All this passed in such low tones that we seemed to make out the words more by watching each other’s lips than through our sense of hearing. Man is a strange animal. I didn’t care what I said. All I wanted was to keep her in her pose, excited and still, sitting up with her hair loose, softly glowing, the dark brown fur making a wonderful contrast with the white lace on her breast.
"Why, no, Judy," said Katy, somewhat elated because she had been first to recognize and welcome the stranger. "Why, no, I can’t say he did, and ’tain’t nateral like that he should set so much store by you, as by me. Ain’t I got twenty years the start on you; and didn’t I nuss him, and arter his mother died didn’t I larn him all his manners?"
He added that that didn’t mean much, for he had got the ball on a fluke; still, the tone of the letter was excited and elated. And it excited and elated Irving. He folded the letter and put it in his pocket; he sat for a moment looking out of the window with dreamy eyes and an unconscious smile.
Blunt in a ragged old jacket and a white tie and that incisive polite voice of his seemed strange and weird. It seemed as though he were inventing it all rather angrily. I had doubts as to your existence.” “Mr. Blunt is very much interested in my story.” “Anybody would be,” I said. “I was. I didn’t sleep a wink. I was expecting to see you soon—and even then I had my doubts.” “As to my existence?”
I used to meet her, at some mutual friends’ parties; at first we danced together, and talked, and flirted, and all that sort of thing; then, I used to like nothing so well as sitting by her side—we didn’t talk so much then, but I remember I used to have a great notion of looking at her out of the extreme corner of my left eye—and then I got very miserable and sentimental, and began to write verses, and use Macassar oil.
He started up when his father entered. ‘Fasten the door, Mary,’ said the young man hastily—‘Fasten the door. You look as if you didn’t know me, father. It’s long enough, since you drove me from home; you may well forget me.’ ‘And what do you want here, now?’ said the father, seating himself on a stool, on the other side of the fireplace. ‘What do you want here, now?’
With her face very close to mine, but apparently not knowing what she was looking at she repeated again twice, “No—No,” with an intonation which might well have brought dampness to my eyes but which only made me regret that I didn’t kill the honest Ortega at sight. Suddenly Doña Rita swung round and seizing her loose hair with both hands started twisting it up before one of the sumptuous mirrors.
And Dottie galloped and trotted and cantered, and went on and on, and on, and the wolf came after her, but he kept on being left farther and farther behind, and at last Dottie was out of the woods, and she and Bully were safe, for the wolf didn’t dare go any nearer, for fear the circus men would catch him.
I wonder what they would think if they knew of your existence.” “I don’t exist,” she said. “That’s easy to say. But I will go as if you didn’t exist—yet only because you do exist. You exist in me. I don’t know where I end and you begin. You have got into my heart and into my veins and into my brain.” “Take this fancy out and trample it down in the dust,” she said in a tone of timid entreaty.
When on one occasion asked if she had any trouble, she said: “No I don’t want, somebody else gave me a book all right I love myself, Uncle Mike too all right too all right I am in Bellevue I love everybody except the Jews all right, all right give me water, give me milk, give me seltzer white horse uncle Holy Father, he is killing me, I want my mother,” or “Wait a minute, say, that’s a lie oh no, Holy water no I didn’t wash the water away oh, she forgets, I am sick mother why don’t you come look at the baby, they knocked my head against the wall wait a minute, isn’t that terrible?
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