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"The Anti-Slavery Society for the City of New York" was formed by a few men who met and did their work while a mob was pounding at the door, and who, having completed their task, fled for their lives.
The way the guns kept pounding away at it made me think of firemen in a small town drenching a local blaze with their hose. The gunners were just so eager as that. And I could almost see that factory, crumbling away. Major Normabell had pointed it out to me, up on the ridge, and now I knew why.
So between the two, Emett and I had trouble in keeping our Navajo from illustrating the plainsman idea of a really good Indian a dead one. While we were pitching camp among magnificent pine trees, and above a hollow where a heavy bank of snow still lay, a sodden pounding in the turf attracted our attention. "Hold the horses!" yelled Emett.
After much rattling at the door handles and pounding on the shutters, an acrid female voice enjoined me to be gone. "I'm closing up and leaving." "Leaving? What for?" "To escape the Germans!" "How foolish! They'll never reach here. I've just come from the Marne and expected to find board and lodgings for my staff until the war is over."
Somehow it wouldn't work. The words refused to come. Love was too big and sweet and sacred. It couldn't be hinted at to a third person. And so he merely stammered: "Will you er please tell Miss Betty I'm here?" "Yiss-sor!" Peggy giggled. He was glad to be rid of her. He drew his handkerchief, mopped the perspiration from his brow and sat down by the open window to wait. His heart was pounding.
The most detailed record of rice operations available is that made by Charles Manigault from the time of his purchase in 1833 of "Gowrie," on the Savannah River, twelve miles above the city of Savannah. The plantation then had 220 acres in rice fields, 80 acres unreclaimed, a good pounding mill, and 50 slaves.
Still the lovely delicate young lady was shaking, rubbing, fairly pounding her. It must be a dream. No, there was the cottage and the stork's nest and the meester's coach by the canal. She could see them now quite plainly. Her hands were tingling, her feet throbbing. Hilda was forcing her to walk. At last Gretel began to feel like herself again.
So he continued forward, grimly conscious of his burning ankles, his pounding and fluttering heart and heaving and clamoring lungs plunging forward under the weak urging of his heavy master, responding now through force of habit feeling that because he was in motion he must continue in motion.
If only they had put him ashore, in gratitude he would have crawled on his knees. What followed was of no interest to David, nor to many of the filibusters, nor to any of the Cuban patriots. Their groans of self-pity, their prayers and curses in eloquent Spanish, rose high above the crash of broken crockery and the pounding of the waves.
The group around me seemed to be suddenly motionless in the very act of moving, as if a hypnotist had called "Rigid!" The girl in blue was looking at me, and above the din I thought she said she must speak to me something vital. The pounding grew louder and merged into a scream. With a grinding and splintering the car rose under my feet. Then it fell away into darkness.
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