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"Don't touch me," she cried. "I hate you!" She put her fists to her temples and, her eyes closed, rocked herself to and fro. "Don't you touch me. Go away from me; go away from me. I hate you; I hate you all. I hate this house, I hate this life. You are all killing me. Oh, my God, if I could only die!" She flung herself full length upon the couch, face downward.
He opened his hard fists and closed them tighter than ever. Curtis Park was now at the head of the stairs. Having decided, he was bolting off. Little Porter Knapp was engaged in kicking Gibson, who was detaining him by the end of his jacket, and screaming wrathfully and slapping her hands. The other boys, most of them making up their minds to follow Curtis, were watching proceedings.
"Do not pity the Colonel," said Ratcliffe, with a pale sneer. "He is extremely comfortable. He is " "No! no! no!" cried Syme in a kind of frenzy, "not the Colonel too! I will never believe it!" "Will you believe your eyes?" asked the other, and pointed to the beach. Many of their pursuers had waded into the water shaking their fists, but the sea was rough, and they could not reach the pier.
"Where am I?" There was a long pause of nerve-racking effort as she strove to remember. "Who am I?" she cried hysterically. She sprang out of bed and ran to the mirror over the dressing table. The face that looked back at her was familiar, but she could not give it its name. A muffled scream escaped her lips, and she held her clenched fists to her temples as if she feared her brain would burst.
Astrology was mentioned, whereupon the threatening fists were lowered, the saucy under-jaw was retracted, and the general air of pugnacity was subdued into a very suspicious demeanor, as if she thought he hadn’t any money, and wanted to storm the castle under false pretences.
You've got to fight the lot." "Yes," cried the boy, flushing, and his fists began to clench. "But I say, Serge, I should like to, but I'm a bit tired, and they're still six to one." "Yes," said the man, "but that's what I want you to see. It won't hurt you to know how, even if you're never going to be a soldier. You come along o' me." "What, to fight them?" cried Marcus. "Yes.
‘It’s mine now,’ said the fellow; ‘I swore I would seize it the next time I found it on my beat; ay, and beat the master too.’ ‘I am not Slingsby.’ ‘All’s one for that.’ ‘You don’t say you will beat me?’ ‘Afraid was the word.’ ‘I’m sick and feeble.’ ‘Hold up your fists.’ ‘Won’t the horse satisfy you?’ ‘Horse nor bellows either.’ ‘No mercy, then?’ ‘Here’s at you.’ ‘Mind your eyes, Jack.
In their last fight my best cock had severely handled handsome Nikander's, and yet he wanted to dispute the stakes with me, but I would assert my rights! At least the quails should fight again, and if Nikander should refuse I would force him to fight me with his fists in the Palaestra, and give him a blue reminder of his debt on the eye.
She was fiery and furious as he. They went on till he called her a liar. "No," she cried, starting up, scarce able to breathe. "Don't call me that you, the most despicable liar that ever walked in shoe-leather." She forced the last words out of suffocated lungs. "You're a liar!" he yelled, banging the table with his fist. "You're a liar, you're a liar." She stiffened herself, with clenched fists.
Presently the sun rose in glory and sent its burning level rays to cast a shadow several rods long of an enraged American beating frantically with clenched fists upon the door of an unresponsive railway station. He hammered until he was a-weary, then deputised his task to Doggott, who resourcefully found him a stone of size and proceeded to make dents in the door.
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