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By a single word, perhaps, for those who have loved. I had taken Brigitte's hand, and, in a dream, doubtless, she had pronounced my name. I arose and went to my room; a torrent of tears flowed from my eyes. I held out my arms as if to seize the past which was escaping me. "Is it possible," I repeated, "that I am going to lose you? I can love no one but you. What! you are going away? And forever?
The rebbe sat at an end of the table, rehearsing two or three of the boys who were studying the same part, pointing out the words with his wooden pointer, so as not to lose the place.
Why, he saith, "What man of you having an hundred sheep, if he lose one of them, doth not leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness, and go after that which is lost until he find it?"
But then it seemed such an awful thing for this young and headstrong creature to be adrift on the wide world. She determined that, whether Christal desired it or no, she would never lose sight of her, but try to guide her with so light a hand, that the girl might never even feel the sway.
"Then will you be good enough to consider it now? I have pledged my word that he shall be restored to his original form. Not only my happiness is at stake, but my honour." "By failure to perform the impossible none can lose honour. And this is a thing that cannot be undone." "Cannot be undone?" repeated Horace, feeling a cold clutch at his heart. "Why?"
Rachel whirled around and stamped her foot impatiently. "And 'twill come past our house," contributed Ezekiel, gaining her side, "so let's sit on the doorstep till it comes." "And you can tell us about the funerals you've seen in the city," suggested Peletiah, who had been thinking about them ever since. "All right," said Rachel, seeing she was not to lose sight of the parade she so dearly loved.
And yet while they faded that happened which froze and bit each separate word into his memory, to lose distinctness only when death should interfere, stop the active brain, and wipe the slate. For while the procession halted and broke up its formation for a moment on the brow of the cliff, a woman came running into the torchlight. "Is my Joey there? Where's he to, anybody?
And first let us find out what we can about the willow, because it is the first tree, with us, to become green in the spring, and, of that large class which is called deciduous, the last one to lose its leaves." "And why are they called deciduous?" asked Malcolm.
But he looked at her first and then was silent. There was something in her face that forbade it, a whiteness and a strange look in her eyes, that made him lose all feeling of comradeship or even acquaintance. "I wonder if the old Highflyer will ever go out again?" she said slowly. "Captain Parish told me some time ago that he had found her more badly damaged than he supposed.
The idea crossed her mind while she was arranging her writing-table near her favourite window, for all writing seemed to be connected with Gianluca, so that she could not imagine passing more than a day or two without setting down something on paper which he was to read, and to answer. To lose that close intimacy of thought would be to lose much.
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