United States or Moldova ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Haydon's second-best black coat, when she looked down the lane and saw old Polly Norris approaching the house. Polly was an improvident mother of improvident children, not always quite sound in either wits or behavior, but she had always been gently dealt with by the Haydons, and, as it happened, was also an old acquaintance of Maria Durrant's own.
So do these women though separately devout, distinguished, and vouched for by the theology, mathematics, Latin, and Greek of their husbands. Heaven knows why it is. For one thing, thought Jacob, they're as ugly as sin. Now there was a scraping and murmuring. He caught Timmy Durrant's eye; looked very sternly at him; and then, very solemnly, winked.
By six o'clock a breeze blew in off an icefield; and by seven the water was more purple than blue; and by half-past seven there was a patch of rough gold-beater's skin round the Scilly Isles, and Durrant's face, as he sat steering, was of the colour of a red lacquer box polished for generations.
"They're going to make you act in their play." "How I love you!" said Elsbeth, kneeling beside Mrs. Durrant's chair. "Give me the wool," said Mrs. Durrant. "He's come he's come!" cried Charlotte Wilding. "I've won my bet!" "There's another bunch higher up," murmured Clara Durrant, mounting another step of the ladder.
Let's dry ourselves, and take up the first thing that comes handy.... Timmy Durrant's notebook of scientific observations. "Now..." said Jacob. It is a tremendous argument. Some people can follow every step of the way, and even take a little one, six inches long, by themselves at the end; others remain observant of the external signs.
Jarvis wrote them; Mrs. Durrant too; Mother Stuart actually scented her pages, thereby adding a flavour which the English language fails to provide; Jacob had written in his day long letters about art, morality, and politics to young men at college. Clara Durrant's letters were those of a child. Florinda the impediment between Florinda and her pen was something impassable.
"Was that true about your uncle becoming a Mohammedan?" asked Timmy Durrant. Jacob had told the story of his Uncle Morty in Durrant's room the night before. "I expect he's feeding the sharks, if the truth were known," said Jacob. "I say, Durrant, there's none left!" he exclaimed, crumpling the bag which had held the cherries, and throwing it into the river.
Word Of The Day