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We were both guilty of the murder of which he was the victim; and we must both do all we could to prevent the crime from recoiling upon them.... He had seen this clearly in his dying agony. He had had the amazing courage to keep his feet, to answer the people who spoke to him and to lock himself up to die.
In strange contrast, the sky was as blue as the limpid skies of Umbria, and nearly two hundred feet below the gnarled gashed cliff the ocean broke in terrific cascades of diamonded foam. The top of the cliff on which the house stood overleaped the sea, so that, looking below, one saw only the recoiling waters of a rich, deep gold, capped with silver crescents of broken spray.
Mellen turned and went back, sheltering himself under the cedar trees. When he saw that she was safe, a revulsion came upon his feelings; a sense of the wrong she had done him returned with bitter force, and when she passed along the outskirts of the cedars, making her way down the hill, he retreated deeper into the shadows, recoiling from contact with her.
So they remained for a while, until she looked up dazed, weary, ashamed, expecting nothing of him; and when it came, leaving her still incredulous, his arms around her, his tense, flushed face recoiling from their first kiss, she did not seem to comprehend. "I can't turn on him," he stammered, "I we are friends, you see. How can I love you, if that is so?" "Could you love me?" she asked calmly.
But if Sir Peter sends his son at the age of sixteen to a tutor who eliminates the religion of Christianity from his teaching, he deserves to be thrashed within an inch of his life; and," continued the Parson, eying Sir Peter sternly, and mechanically turning up his cuffs, "I should like to thrash him." "Gently, John," said Sir Peter, recoiling; "gently, my dear kinsman.
"How you do work, my lady!" cried the silversmith, jokingly. Her answer was a gay-toned laugh; then she went on with her task, sometimes recoiling so that she almost sat on her heels, again stretching her body forward with an energy that lowered the tight-corseted slimness of her waist and set in motion the fullness of her yielding hips.
"You told me a lie then why in the name of common sense am I here?" "Because, young man because, sir, I'm sick o' love for you, an' I want'ee to marry me." "Great heaven!" the young minister muttered, recoiling. "Is the girl mad?" "Ah, but look at me, sir!" She seemed to grow still taller as she stood there, resting one hand on the tiller and gazing at him with perfectly serious eyes.
Cheever, did you ever peel onions?" "Good Heavens, no!" said Mrs. Cheever, recoiling. "Well, there are no onions to peel," said Mrs. Kildair, laughing. "All you'll have to do is to help set the table. On to the kitchen!"
He had been the colleague of Joam Dacosta, employed, like him, at Tijuco, in the offices of the governor of the diamond arrayal. He had been the official appointed to accompany the convoy to Rio de Janeiro, and, far from recoiling at the horrible idea of enriching himself by means of murder and robbery, he had informed the smugglers of the very day the convoy was to leave Tijuco.
"Hm, hm ye-es," said the mother, recoiling from him and involuntarily blinking when her gaze met his sharp, narrow eyes. "And how is Fedya Mazin?" shouted the Little Russian from the kitchen. "Writing poetry, is he?" "Yes! I don't understand it," said Nikolay, shaking his head. "They've put him in a cage and he sings. There's only one thing I'm sure about, and that is I have no desire to go home."
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