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One morning his face was sunken and his hands were very, very cold. He was "better," he whispered, but sadly and faintly. After a while he grew restless and seemed a little wandering. His mind ran on his classics, and fell back on the Latin grammar. "Iris!" he said, "filiola mea!" The child knew this meant my dear little daughter as well as if it had been English.
One morning his face was sunken and his hands were very, very cold. He was "better," he whispered, but sadly and faintly. After a while he grew restless and seemed a little wandering. His mind ran on his classics, and fell back on the Latin grammar. "Iris!" he said, "filiola mea!" The child knew this meant my dear little daughter as well as if it had been English.
No political question was raised by the proceedings against him; for the present his offence was merely a personal one; the wreck of Catiline's companions, the dissolute young aristocrats, the loose members of all ranks and classes, took up the cause, and gathered to support their favorite, with young Curio, whom Cicero called in mockery Filiola, at their head.
He is my guardian you know, and, of course, I must do as he wishes, but I hope oh I HOPE, he will let me do this." "And what is it you so wish to do, Filiola?" asked a gentle voice within the room. Peggy gave a little cry of delight. "Oh, Compadre, when did you come?
"'Far from the madding crowd, Filiola. Five miles to the good for these old legs of seventy-four summers. They have served me well. I have no fault to find with them. They are stanch friends and have carried me many a mile. But you, my child? You and Tzaritza and Shashai? Come hither, my beauty," and the free hand was extended to the colt which instantly advanced for the proffered caress.
"Why, Filiola, I think it must be the very happiest solution of the situation here: I am getting too old and prosy to make life interesting for you; your father will not be retired for several years yet, so there is little hope of your claiming his companionship; Mrs.
One morning his face was sunken and his hands very, very cold. He was "better," he whispered, but sadly and faintly. After a while he grew restless and seemed a little wandering. His mind ran on his classics, and fell back on the Latin grammar. "Iris!" he said, "filiola mea!" The child knew this meant my dear little daughter as well as if it had been English.
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