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This presented a providential occasion to eat another apple-turnover before entering the unknown. Gavroche halted, fumbled in his fob, turned his pocket inside out, found nothing, not even a sou, and began to shout: "Help!" It is hard to miss the last cake. Nevertheless, Gavroche pursued his way. Two minutes later he was in the Rue Saint-Louis.
"No had a great piece twice as big as that yesterday. Know where there's lots more in the cedar swamp. Here, take it." "Thank you," said Lucina, and took it, and fumbled nervously after her little pocket. "Why don't you eat it?" asked Jerome, and Lucina took an obedient little nibble. "Ain't that good and strong?" "It's real good," replied Lucina, smiling gratefully.
But a few paces distant, he slackened in his walk and fumbled in his vest pocket with his fingers. Then he came back to Mrs. Hooven and put a quarter into her hand. Mrs. Hooven stared at the coin stupefied. The young man disappeared. He thought, then, that she was begging.
"It's not for you to prove yourself innocent. They haven't proved you guilty yet." The old man fumbled with a waistcoat button. His eyes blinked hard. "You don't see," he continued, "the one thing that's plain to my eyes, and it's this that your only chance of escape is to tell the truth about the quarrel.
Graham to cry out with pain. "Mary!" he said to her under his breath. "Yes, Quinny," she answered, turning towards him and speaking as softly as he had spoken. He fumbled for words. "It's ... it's awfully nice to see you again," he said. "It's nice to see you all again," she replied. "You're ... you're so different," he went on.
All of a sudden there came a sound chords, metallic, sharp, rather like the tone of a mandolin close to my ear. Yes, quite close: I was separated from the sounds only by a partition. I fumbled for a door; the unsteady light of my lamp was insufficient for my eyes, which were swimming like those of a drunkard.
It seemed for one instant as if the move had been a success, for Joe, still taking risks, tried to late-cut a rising ball, and snicked it straight into Bob's hands at second slip. It was the easiest of slip-catches, but Bob fumbled it, dropped it, almost held it a second time, and finally let it fall miserably to the ground. It was a moment too painful for words.
He alone, from his place on the desk, saw that there was a white circle about the boy's tight mouth as Young Denny turned and fumbled with the latch before he opened the door and passed quietly out into the night.
The doctor nodded. In a life made up of emergencies as his was, nothing astonished him. "Annie," he said kindly, "just tell Mrs. Cole not to hurry down to breakfast. And close the door." Kenny took the will from his pocket and spread it on the table. The doctor wearily fumbled for his glasses and put them on. "Hum!" he said. "The old man's will, eh? I've been wondering about it.
But the Bishop insisted gently and in the end she gave him place beside her. He had taken off his cap and overcoat and he knelt quickly to listen at the man's breast. Life ran very low in the long, bony frame; but there was life, certainly. While the Bishop fumbled through the man's pockets for the knife that he was sure he would find, he questioned the girl quietly.
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