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Storri hung in the door, and the white of his cravat was not so white as his face. He could neither go nor stay, neither speak nor do; craven to the heart, he quailed before the stormy San Reve. An artist might have painted him as the Genius of Cowardice. "Good-night, my Storri," said the San Reve, her voice mournfully sweet. HOW THEY TALKED POLITICS AT MR. GWYNN's
For no man, they argued, not even father, an habitual pursuer of dreams, would push the love of the novelist's art of make-believe to the point of burdening himself with real trunks for a voyage au pays du reve.
And now the San Reve looked strangely at Storri; her teeth showed pearl against the coral of her parted lips while her nostrils dilated like the nostrils of an animal. The little world you have been considering through the medium of this veracious chronicle began now to adjust itself to the changes that have been recorded. Mr.
They did not encounter the Englishman's car again, and eventually, after making a final circuit of the town, they returned to Mon Reve. In the evening Lady Susan complained of fatigue. "I've not quite got over that fall of mine yet," she acknowledged ruefully, when Ann suggested that perhaps she had been out driving too long in the hot sun.
Under spell of jealousy, the San Reve would accept nothing that told in her own favor; and just now, despite an outward serenity for, though sullen, she was serene the San Reve was afire with jealousy like a torch. The San Reve listened to Storri and said nothing; she could see how matters stood.
His manners were mild and unassuming, not at all like those of this man, to whom, I acknowledge, the personal resemblance is surprising. I am afraid our good friends, the Denslows, and Mr. Dalton, whom I esteem for their patronage of art, have been taken in by an adventurer." "But the valet, Rêve de Noir?"
"Storri," said the San Reve, with a chill bluntness that promised the disagreeable while it lost no time, "why do you visit that house the Harley house?" Storri was in an easy-chair, puffing a cigar as though at home. The San Reve, half lying, half sitting, reclined upon a sofa. They looked at each other; Storri trying to seem brave, the San Reve with staring courage, open and more real.
Yes, she the San Reve could see it all! Storri might have quarreled with Mr. Harley; but the loving understanding between himself and Miss Harley was still complete! Nor was the poor jealous San Reve wholly without a reason, as she beheld events, for her conclusion. Within the past few days, Storri had been several times to and fro in the vicinity of the Harley house.
Sometimes it takes the tone of a lighter melancholy touched with cynicism: La vie est vaine: Un peu d'amour, Un peu de haine, Et puis bon jour. La vie est brève, Un peu d'espoir, Un peu de rêve, Et puis bon soir.
Though not mortal, it was of a dangerous nature; and the surgeons ended a very painful operation by promising a very lingering recovery. What a charming satisfaction for being insulted! Je me contente de ce qui peut s'ecrire, et je reve tout ce qui peut se rever.
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