United States or French Polynesia ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
'How much for this now? 'Two precious silver shillings, said Miss Wren. Riah confirmed her with two nods, as Fledgeby looked to him. A nod for each shilling. 'Well, said Fledgeby, poking into the contents of the basket with his forefinger, 'the price is not so bad. You have got good measure, Miss What-is-it. 'Try Jenny, suggested that young lady with great calmness.
The croupiers rake in their gains or poke out the winnings with the passive regularity of machines; the gamblers sit round the table with the vacant solemnity of undertakers. The general air of the company is that of a number of well-to-do people bored out of their lives, and varying their boredom with quiet nods to the croupier and assiduous prickings of little cards.
What does it mean? Have my friends fallen into the hands of robbers?" Mustapha immediately nods his head. "It is so, monsieur." "Who are they?" "Arabs, Kabyles, Moors all who hate the Franks, yet love money more. They are under a desperate leader, the Tiger of the Desert." At this Monsieur Constans utters a low cry. "He means Bab Azoun, ze terrible gate-way of death."
'I shall have to, said Beauchamp, striving to be prudent. 'There isn't a doubt of it, said his uncle, upon a series of nods diminishing in their depth until his head assumed a droll interrogative fixity, with an air of 'What next? Beauchamp quitted the house without answering as to what next, and without seeing Rosamund.
He made a step toward her and a threatening gesture, but paused, seemed to consider a moment, then saying, "We will see what your guardians have to say about that," turned and left the room. Every one seemed to draw a long breath of relief, and smiles, nods, and significant glances were exchanged.
With quick insight he caught her meaning, and punctuated her broken sentences with a series of grave nods, assuring her that he knew and understood. He had always known, he had always understood, it seemed. "Don't think I'm unwomanly, Poleon, for I'm not. I may be foolish and faithful and too trusting, but I'm not unmaidenly.
As Gabriel passes Abel their eyes meet. Abel nods airily, and Gabriel quietly; the next moment they are back to back again one is going up street, the other down. It is not one of the splendid houses before which Gabriel stops when he has reached the upper part of the city. It is not a palace, nor is it near Broadway.
Then the backs are suddenly shortened again, the profiles appear as before nods, and winks, and cunning glances, are exchanged and that till the little bell sounds a second time. This ridiculous genuflexion and mummery you may see repeated every morning in a Mexican "iglesia," long before the hour of breakfast.
There were frequent confirmatory emphatic nods of great disheveled heads, the scarlet flushing of angry faces, already florid, and now and again a violent descriptive gesture of a long brawny arm with a clenched fist at its extremity.
"Why," says I, "I saw him drift out on the terrace a minute ago." "Alone?" says she. I nods. "Then take me out to him, will you?" she asks. "Sure thing," says I. And she puts it up to him straight when we get him cornered. "Was that the real reason why you were in Worcester?" she demands. "I'm sorry," says he, hangin' his head, "but it must have been."
Word Of The Day