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Masterpieces like William Vaughn Moody's "Ode in Time of Hesitation" and Francis Thompson's "Hound of Heaven" reveal of course a firm intellectual grasp upon the underlying theme of the ode and upon the logical processes of its development.
"If you had been my brother I should have called you 'Robert," she said; "and no brother could have been more devoted to me than you are." He looked eagerly at her bright face turned up to his. "May I never hope to be something nearer and dearer to you than a brother?" he asked timidly. She hung her head and said nothing. Moody's memory recalled Sharon's coarse reference to her "sweetheart."
At this proposal a thick gloom had fallen over the assembly; but it had been dispersed by Serena Moody's cheerful offer to have the small melodion brought out of the parlour, and to play for dancing as well as she could. The company agreed that she was a smart girl, and prepared to accept her performance with enthusiasm.
After a while Smooth calculated how he'd got politics enough; an' knowin' how Splitwater was 'commodatin' the mackerel outside the line, he steps down to Deacon Sam Moody's prayer meetin', what they holds at night after the 'lection meetin. Here it was all right; Smooth was just as much of a Christian as anybody could honestly be, and a longer face nobody could desire.
In the interval, Mr. Troy had taken his leave, and Moody's position had dropped a degree lower in Lady Lydiard's estimation. Isabel received her letter by the next morning's post. If any justification of Mr. Troy's suspicions had been needed, the terms in which Moody wrote would have amply supplied it.
Oh, my Lady! my Lady! don't let him distress you! What does he know about it?" "Hush!" said Lady Lydiard. "Control yourself, and hear what he has to say." She rested her hand on Moody's shoulder, partly to encourage him, partly to support herself; and, fixing her eyes again on Mr. Troy, repeated his last words, "'Suspicion rests on my adopted daughter, and on nobody else. Why on nobody else?"
It only came that once, just to blot out Port Moody's chances. So the place lies mouldering away, with the lumber houses falling to pieces and the wharves rotting, and only a few wooden crosses and headstones on the hill to mark the graves of those who stayed behind when the others went.
They went down to the car silently, Dulac breathing deeply, like a man who had labored to weariness. In silence they drove to Mrs. Moody's boarding house, and in silence they climbed the stairs to Ruth's little room. Mrs.
Here it is which is enough, except for discontented fellows." "Eh, Missus?" the jolly butcher appealed to her, and pointed at Moody's complexion for proof. It was quite a fiction that kegs of the good cognac were sown at low water, and reaped at high, near the river-gate of the old Pilot Inn garden; but it was greatly to Mrs.
"I've heard from Tracy," I overheard him say as I followed them along the softly carpeted corridor. "We're up against that infernal Benton again because of old Moody's blunder. I never expected he'd be caught, of all men. Benton is now looking for Moody's guiding hand." "Well, I hope he won't get very far," Duperré replied.
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