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Do you know Quasimodo, ladies? Have you seen him make himself breathless on the big bell on a grand Pentecost festival! Corne du Pere! 'tis very fine! One would say he was a devil mounted on a man. Listen to me, my friends; I am a vagabond to the bottom of my heart, I am a member of the slang thief gang in my soul, I was born an independent thief.
Indeed, he made it a point, at first, to obtain permission to land me at New-York, where he had found me, as he said; but to this I would not listen, as I feared it might interfere with his promotion, of which he stood so good a chance, in consequence of his success in the affair of the money.
And I said to myself: If there is no God as the miserable philosophers tell us there surely ought to be one, if for nothing else than to listen to the supplications of these loving and grateful hearts. And I could not believe that such tender devotions could ascend and be lost forever in empty and unresponsive space. The impulse of prayer, it seems to me, presupposes a God."
She seemed determined to be interested by nothing else. But taste was too strong in her. She could not abstract her mind five minutes: she was forced to listen; his reading was capital, and her pleasure in good reading extreme. To good reading, however, she had been long used: her uncle read well, her cousins all, Edmund very well, but in Mr.
Do you think any man in this valley can have anything to tell me I want to hear, least of all you, Charleton Falkner? I know your history, man! And yours too, John Spencer. And you can either get out or listen while I tell these children a few facts about you."
'You, or rather your master, the Count of Arestino, pays for this business, and so I am bound to obey you. 'Listen, then, resumed Antonio, 'the young Count of Riverola, whom I have traced to the cottage this evening, will no doubt be coming away about the time we shall all meet down there; and therefore we shall have nothing to do but to carry him off to the cave. 'Why is the Count of Arestino so hostile to young Riverola? demanded the man who had answered to the name of Lomellino.
"Ah, monsieur," said he pleasantly, "I have been looking for you. I have something to say, and one can talk without fear in a crowded room. But do not let people guess by your face that I am saying anything serious. That lady," and he glanced toward Jeanne, "is, I believe, your sister?" "Yes," I replied, wondering what he could say which concerned Jeanne. "Listen," he continued.
"It is over this way," declared Rand, leading the way to the right, but, although they stopped from time to time to listen, they did not hear the sound again, nor did they find any trace of their missing comrade.
They would not openly admit that their marriage was the final punishment of the murder; they refused to listen to the inner voice that shouted out the truth to them, displaying the story of their life before their eyes.
Margaret would have given anything to kneel down and whisper in those passionless ears all that she suffered, but the priest's faith and hers were not the same. They spoke a different tongue, not of the lips only but of the soul, and he would not listen to the words of an heretic.
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