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The leaves touched Lorraine's eyes, they rubbed across her fair brow, robbing her of single threads of glittering hair, they brushed a single bright tear from her cheeks and held it, glimmering like a drop of dew. "Behold the end of the world," said Lorraine "I am weeping." He turned and looked into her eyes. "Is that strange?" he asked, gently. "Yes; I have often wished to cry.
Supposing the second miscarries and you don't get bored?" "Well, then I think usually there is an awful moment when I have to tell her I can't afford both a motor and a wife; and to be motorless would kill me." A sudden little twitching at the corners made Lorraine's mouth dangerously fascinating.
But Caroline kicked my horse down off the road, and, I only saw him a minute but it must have been dad. And then, a little way down the hill, something went wrong." Frank seemed trying to reconstruct the accident from Lorraine's description. "He'd no business to start down if his rough-lock wasn't all right," he said. "It ain't like him. Brit's careful about them things little men most always are.
On the basis of Lorraine's similar conviction about ours it would seem then that we ought to meet for an esoteric revel; yet somehow it doesn't come off. Sometimes I think I'm quite wrong and that he can't really be a child of light: we should in this case either have seen him collapse or have discovered what inwardly sustains him.
"She's the girl," Hawkins affirmed, his eyes everywhere but on Lorraine's face. "Brit Hunter's daughter they say." "They say? I am his daughter! How dare you take that tone, Mr Hawkins? My home is at the Quirt. When you strike at the Quirt you strike at me. When you strike at me I am going to strike back. Since I came here two men have been killed and my father has been nearly killed.
But by the time that the picture is painted, all is over. Faces are the best part of a picture; but even faces are not what we chiefly remember in what interests us most. But it may be asked then, Is there anything better than Claude Lorraine's landscapes, than Titian's portraits, than Raphael's cartoons, or the Greek statues?
Vivian's cheek as she replied: "He does it because he wants me to stay; and I have told him I cannot do so unless he makes it possible for me to give you a comfortable, happy home here." Lorraine's lips curled with a scorn she did not attempt to conceal, but she only stood silently gazing across the Park.
With some women perhaps they never palled. Perhaps each fresh conquest renewed them, and each fresh triumph invigorated. In Lorraine's complex character, the love of success was blended with a love of the deeper and richer things of life.
One of Lorraine's younger sisters is coming to be with us, perhaps, for a while in Switzerland and the Elliots animal sculptors. You remember them, don't you, and Arlington studying decorative design that winter when you were in New York? They'll be abroad this summer.
"I do not think there is any occasion to cast reflections on my friends, even if you do not choose to be sociable to them," which remark was intended as a dignified hit at Lorraine's invincible determination to maintain friendly relations with her mother, without having anything whatever to do with her mother's friends.
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