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"Nex' day he come to the house where we stay, but the Cure come also pretty soon and tell her she must go home he say an actor is not good company. Never mind. And so we come out home. Well, what you think? Nex' day M'sieu' Hadrian come, too, and we have dam good time Florian, Octave, Felix, Emile, they all sit and say bully-good to him all the time. Holy, what fine stories he tell!
That was in the octave of the tenth anniversary after my first public appearance in my present mission and my solemn initiation by Heavenly messengers for this mission.
When the time comes for him to strike out and take his chance in life, he holds back and is afraid, while another with more courage, steps in and takes away his opportunity." We discussed the slow movement at great length. The third movement must have great swing and 'go'; the octave passage cadenza should be practised in rhythmical groups, and the final Andante must be fast."
She let her hair fall down her back again, but seemed embarrassed as to how to execute his wish. "I can not cut my hair with my teeth," she said, with a smile which betrayed a double row of pearls. Octave took a stiletto from his pocket. "Why do you always carry this stiletto?" asked the young woman, in a changed voice; "it frightens me to see you armed thus."
Though the round dozen is a complete number in the counting-house, it is not altogether so in the belfry: the octave is the most perfect concord in music, but diminishes by rising to an octave and a half; neither can that dozen well be crowded into the peal.
In the year of the Lord 1381, and on the second day of December, being the Octave of St. Katherine, Virgin and Martyr, the venerable and most devout Master John Ruesbroeck died in the district of Brabant.
Of the three children, Octave Mouret was the audacious conqueror, the clear intellect, resolved to demand from the women the sovereignty of Paris, fallen at his debut into the midst of a corrupt bourgeois society, acquiring there a terrible sentimental education, passing from the capricious refusal of one woman to the unresisting abandonment of another, remaining, fortunately, active, laborious, and combative, gradually emerging, and improved even, from the low plotting, the ceaseless ferment of a rotten society that could be heard already cracking to its foundations.
The song of Mkuka Mpela, the wild pigeon, and Fungu, the cuckoo, were loud in the brake: the Abbe Proyart makes the male cuculus chant his coo, coo, coo; mounting one note above another with as much precision as a musician would sound his ut, re, mi: when he reached the third note, his mate takes it up and ascends to the octave. After this both recommence the same song.
"Be kind enough to spare your jokes," said Octave, as his friend poked about in all the corners of the room with an affectation of anxiety, "and, as I can not get rid of you, listen to my opinion: if you think that I brought you here for you to conduct yourself as you have for the last two days, you are mistaken." "What have I done?"
The ceremony commences by two fellows armed with stump brooms mounting on a ladder borne by four or five more of the crowd, when sitting back to back, they commence a fierce attack on each other with the brooms over their shoulders, maintaining at the same time as the procession advances, a scolding dialogue, or rather duet; one of them squeaking to represent the angry tones of the better half, while the other growls his complaints an octave below.
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