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When I got back to my room at last through a tortuous maze of gaping workmen and sickening flowers, three startled girls jumped up to catch me as I staggered across the threshold. I did not faint, I did not cry out. I just sat huddled on the floor rocking myself to and fro, and mumbling, as through a mouthful of sawdust: "Dolly Leonard is dead. Dolly Leonard is dead. Dolly Leonard is dead."
No matter where he sit, he can't hear what being said down inside that lil ol' tumble-down house. Then what do yo' think Mistah Buzzard do? Why, he jes' stretch his fool haid as far down that chimney as he can an' listen an' listen. Yes, Sah, that is jes' what that no 'count Buzzard do. But all he hear is jes' a mumbling and a mumbling, an' that make him more curious than ever.
And she loved him, almost too deeply for a woman of her class. She loved him, and was happy!" "Only one year!" sighed Umè. "But it must be a great thing to be happy even for one year. Some people are not happy ever at all." "One must not think of personal happiness, it is wicked. Does not even your old mumbling abbot on the hill tell you so much? And now, of all times, do not start the dreaming.
"A life, my lord!" "Ah, the blessed saints forfend I feared so!" gasped Roger. But now the witch turned and looked on Roger, and he incontinent crossed himself and fell thenceforth to mumbling prayers beneath his breath. "Lord Duke, for that I am but a woman poor and helpless, now would I beseech thine aid for " "Nay, tell me first, whence come ye?" "From Barham Broom, messire.
From time to time he paused, took out his note-book and made an entry with a pencil; and any spy who had been near enough would have heard him mumbling words as though he were a poet testing verses. The voice of the wheels was still faint, and it was plain the traveller had far outstripped his carriage.
And Madame de Bellegarde took his arm, and returned to the salon and to her customary place. M. de la Rochefidele and his wife were preparing to take their leave, and Madame de Cintre's interview with the mumbling old lady was at an end. She stood looking about her, asking herself, apparently to whom she should next speak, when Newman came up to her.
He started to his feet, mumbling an apology for his bewilderment. He pulled up an arm-chair to the fire for her, wandered uneasily about the room for a minute or two, and would have left it, had she not called him back to her. "Don't go, Mr. Hannay. I want to speak to you." He turned, with an air of frustrated evasion, and remained, a supremely uncomfortable presence. "Have you time?" she asked.
"Hum!" he was wont to say, looking suspiciously at our wet, sleek heads and general clean appearance clean for us, that is, for the Missouri River, sandy though it was, was vastly cleaner than Duffy's Pond or puddles of that ilk "been in swimming again, have you? In the river, I'll be bound." Two little boys, my brother and I would choke out some sort of a mumbling evasion in lieu of a reply.
"Yes," replied his sister, making a little face, "I danced with him too, but he wants me to dance with no one else, and I don't like that. He makes me afraid, too, just like Rosenblatt." "Afraid!" said her brother scornfully. "No, not afraid," said Irma quickly. "But never mind, here is the pudding. I am sorry it is cold." "All right," said the boy, mumbling with a full mouth, "it is fine.
I might nae doubt hae heard the curate linking awa at it in his white sark yonder, and the musicians playing on whistles, mair like a penny-wedding than a sermon and to the boot of that, I might hae gaen to even-song, and heard Daddie Docharty mumbling his mass muckle the better I wad hae been o' that!" He was here yesterday."
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