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Ella Maclane is dying to come to Baden-Baden. I wish you 'd write to her. Her father and mother have got some idea in their heads; they think it 's improper what do you call it? immoral. I wish you would write to her and tell her it is n't. I wonder if they think that Mrs. Vivian would come to a place that 's immoral. Mrs.
"Here! you must not get excited," said the tall pale man, taking Bart's hand and feeling his pulse, and then laying his hand upon his forehead. "Are you a doctor?" said Bart eagerly. "Yes," said the governor, "this is Doctor Maclane." "Yes, I am Doctor Maclane," said the tall fair man; "and Miss Maude, yonder, said I was to be sure and cure you." "But I'm not ill," cried Bart, flushing.
She announces at the outset that she is odd, a genius, an extreme egotist; has no conscience; despises her father, "Jim MacLane of selfish memory"; loves scrubbing the floor because it gives her strength and grace of body, although her daily life is an "empty damned weariness."
Among Studholme's subordinate officers were lieutenants Peter Clinch, Samuel Denny Street, Ambrose Sharman and Constant Connor, all of the Royal Fencible Americans, and lieutenants Laughlan Maclane and Hugh Frazier of the Young Royal Highland Emigrants. Lieut. Clinch, according to family tradition, was born in Ireland and educated at Trinity College, Dublin.
Municipal documents are human documents. They are the autobiographies of communities. The personalities of Topeka, Kansas, of Limoges, France, and of Heidelberg, Germany, rise before the impressionable student of municipal documents like the figures of personal autobiography, like Benvenuto Cellini, Marie Bashkirtsev, Benjamin Franklin, Miss Mary Maclane, Mr. George Moore.
Maclane, if we have annoyed you with our questions," Francis said. "I wish you could remember a little more of Mr. Wilmore's last visit." "Well, I can't, and that's all there is to it," was the blunt reply. "As to being annoyed, I am only annoyed when my time's wasted. Take these gents down, Jim. Good afternoon!" The door was slammed to and they shot downwards. Francis turned to the lift man.
"No," said Doctor Maclane, "you are not ill. No fever, my lad, nothing but exhaustion." "I'll tell you what to prescribe for that," cried Bart excitedly. "Well, tell me," said the Doctor, smiling. "The same as Doctor Lascelles does, and used to when Joses and he and I had been hunting up cattle and were overdone." "Well, what did he prescribe?" said Doctor Maclane.
Some such Stella Klive, Mary MacLane, Hilma Strandberg, Marie Bashkirtseff have been veritable epics upon woman's nature; have revealed the characterlessness normal to the prenubile period in which everything is kept tentative and plastic, and where life seems to have least unity, aim, or purpose.
Francis looked at him curiously. "Haven't I seen you somewhere before?" he asked, a little abruptly. "I can't say. My name is John Maclane." "Heavy-weight champion about seven years ago?" "I was," the man acknowledged. "You may have seen me in the ring. Now, gentlemen, if you please." The lift had stopped opposite to them. The manager's gesture of dismissal was final. "I am sorry, Mr.
"I think you know a great friend of mine, Miss Ella Maclane, of Baltimore. She 's travelling in Europe now." Longueville's memory did not instantly respond to this signal, but he expressed that rapturous assent which the occasion demanded, and even risked the observation that the young lady from Baltimore was very pretty. "She 's far too lovely," his companion went on.
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