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Then began a kind of nostalgia, which grew and grew till it took him back to the Catholic haven in 1876, never to wander more. But when he first showed me Oxford he was in the ardor of what seemed a permanent severance from an admitted mistake. I see a deserted Oxford street, and a hansom coming up it myself and my father inside it. I was returning from school, for the holidays.

And, suddenly she revolted against herself, against Fort, against this chilled and foggy country; felt a fierce nostalgia for African sun, and the African flowers; the happy-go-lucky, hand-to-mouth existence of those five years before the war began. High Constantia at grape harvest! How many years ago ten years, eleven years! Ah! To have before her those ten years, with him! Ten years in the sun!

At last her godfather, frightened by the effects produced by this nostalgia of love, promised on her birthday to take her to Toulon to see the departure of the fleet for Algiers. Savinien's ship formed part of it, but he was not to be informed beforehand of their intention.

This study in Italian backgrounds is by another disciple of Henry James, who portrays with deft sure touches the nostalgia of an American girl unhappily married to an Italian nobleman. It just fails of complete persuasiveness because it is a trifle overstrung, but nevertheless it is memorable for its artistic sincerity.

Strange, that so small a thing, hardly bigger than one's two closed fists, should be able to exert such an influence over one! For this face it was the pale oval, in the dark setting, the exotic colouring, the heavy-lidded eyes which held him; it was this face which drew him surely back with a vital nostalgia a homesickness for the sight of her and the touch of her if he were too long absent.

Nostalgia, which we are apt to sneer at as a doctor's name for homesickness, and to class with cachexy and borborygmus, was a power for evil in those days, and some of our finest troops were thinned out by it, notoriously the North Carolinians, whose attachment to the soil of their State was as passionate as that of any Greeks, ancient or modern, Attic or Peloponnesian.

Unless they'd modified their guard system very considerably since Trigger had graduated, that was the route by which she would leave. As far as she could tell they hadn't modified anything. The whole kitchen level looked so unchanged that she had a moment of nostalgia. Groups of students went chattering along the hallways between the storerooms and the cooking and processing plants.

He did it all alone and with much skill; for when he was an anarchist in Spain, those long years ago, he had learned how to use tools with expert understanding. Of late, Spain had been much in his mind. He wanted to go back there. Nostalgia had possessed him ever since he had come again to the Manor Cartier after Zoe had left. He thought much of Spain, and but little of his daughter.

He went into society because it was his world; and he attended in a perfunctory manner to the enormous estate left him by his father, bound up in a single trust company. But his thoughts were always three thousand miles away, in that delectable city of cities, Paris. For Paris he suffered a painful nostalgia. There he met his true brethren, while in New York he felt an alien. He was one.

Everything he had worn yesterday lay there, and the sight of them filled his mind with a nostalgia and a desire for them a home sickness and a clothes sickness beyond expression. He was absolutely sure from the valet's manner that the servants were not "in the know." A wild impulse came on him to take the exhibitor of these remnants of his past into his confidence. To say right out: "I'm Jones.