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Possibly he had died in the odor of sanctity; or, at all events, death and his brown frock and cowl made a sacred image of this reverend father. The dead monk was clad, as when alive, in the brown woollen frock of the Capuchins, with the hood drawn over his head, but so as to leave the features and a portion of the beard uncovered. They were tied together at the ankles with a black ribbon.
From beneath her heavy black hood, Mother's meek shy eyes searched the non-committal countenance before her, and found it about as satisfactorily responsive as some stone sphinx half-sepulchred in Egyptic sand. "May I ask, sir, if you are at all related to Regina?"
"Not just now, Barbara: but leave out my hood. Did my father again ask for me?" "Not since, mistress. Mr. Fleetword is with him." Barbara left the room. "I cannot tell why, my lady," she said earnestly to Lady Frances, whom she met in the vestibule "I cannot divine the reason, but this bridal has to me the semblance of a funeral.
The last good-by said, Robert and Helen started down the street, toward the Harley home six or seven blocks away. Her gloved hand rested lightly on his arm, but her face was hidden from him by a red hood. The cold wind was still blustering mightily about the little city and she walked close beside him. "I cannot help thinking at this moment of your army. Which way does it lie, Robert?" she asked.
"Your pardon, sire!" exclaimed Robin Hood. "Pardon, from your royal bounty, for these my men who stand ready to serve you all your days!" Richard of the Lion Heart looked grimly about over the kneeling band. "Is it as your leader says?" he asked. "Aye, my lord King!" burst from sevenscore throats at once.
Her teeth were snow-white, and her light brown hair was neatly parted over a wide forehead. She wore a long ulster half concealing her well-rounded, muscular figure, and a black silk hood rolled back from her face, the strings falling over her broad shoulders, revealing a red silk scarf loosely wound about her throat, the two ends tucked in her bosom.
When Hosmer returned at noon, he did not leave the house again. During the afternoon Thérèse knocked at Fanny’s door. She was enveloped in a long hooded cloak, her face glowing from contact with the sharp moist air, and myriad crystal drops clinging to her fluffy blonde hair that looked very golden under the dark hood that covered it.
Barlasch was holding his numbed hand against the stove, and was grinding his teeth and muttering at the pain of the restored circulation. Desiree shook the icicles from her hood, and they rattled like hail on the bare floor. Her hair, all tumbled round her face, caught the light of the candles. Her eyes were bright and the colour was in her cheeks.
The children decide that it must be a long distance through the wood, half-way round the schoolroom, in fact. The wolf selects the spot where he will meet Red Riding Hood, and the woodchopper chooses a position from which he can rush in at the critical moment, to save Red Riding Hood's life. Then, with gusto good to see, they play the game.
But Hood had a deeper heart, in one sense, than Sydney Smith, and is the material of a greater man. And what are you doing? Writing reading or musing of either? Are you a reviewer-man in opposition to the writer? Once, reviewing was my besetting sin, but now it is only my frailty. Else, I should perish. Do you understand that?
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