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Lars Peter went up to the auctioneer. Every one knew what he wanted; they pushed nearer to see the rag and bone man humiliated. He lifted his dented old hat, and rubbed his tousled head. "I only wanted to say" his big voice rang to the furthermost corners "that if the auctioneer and his clerk would take us as we are, there's food and beer indoors you are welcome to a cup of coffee too."
The roses in the cushions on the lounge glowed like a fire in the heart of a green wood; the cat's eyes gleamed like olivines, but of course Pearl knew from the way he rubbed his head against her shoulder as she sat on the lounge beside him, and from the way he blinked at her he knew, having no doubt in some occult cat-way, listened in on the phone!
"Nonsense!" he cried, interrupting her. He took his old hat, rubbed white at the edges, stuck it over one ear, and went downstairs, whistling. "Philippe! where are you going without any money?" cried his mother, who could not repress her tears. "Here, take this " She held out to him a hundred francs in gold, wrapped up in paper.
A third ulcer had appeared on my back, caused by a servant at Tongres when he was anointing me with oil of roses for the pain in the kidneys and rubbed one of my ribs too hard with a horny finger.... The surgeon on his way out told Theodoric and his servant secretly that it was the plague; he would send poultices, but would not come to see me himself.... When the surgeon failed to return after a day or two, I asked Theodoric the reason.
Dipping the stocking in the icy water he rang it almost dry and rubbed the limb, gently at first and then more vigorously until it was in a glow. This was soothing and gave partial relief, but much pain remained. An injury of that nature takes a long time to subside.
The root of the evil lay in the reticence of parents with children as to the mystery of life; boys and girls were going out into the world blind-folded as to any knowledge of their physical selves; "the bloom must not be rubbed off the peach," was the belief of thousands of parents, and the results were appalling.
Leaving the poop he walked forward, when he found that he had slipped down with his back leaning against the bulwarks, just behind a gun, and was fast asleep with his eyes open. "Well, Billy, what sort of a night is it?" he asked. Billy, starting up, rubbed his eyes. "Very dark, sir; I've been looking out for some time, but can see nothing." Tom was somewhat astonished at this answer.
When the passengers met at the breakfast-table, the poor poet and his misfortunes during the night gave rise to much quizzing and merriment, particularly when he made his appearance with a black eye, and the skin rubbed off the tip of his nose. One gentleman, who was most active in teasing him, cried out to me, "Mr.
He is an excellent critick, and the time of the play is his hour of business; exactly at five he passes through New-Inn, crosses through Russel-Court, and takes a turn at Will's until the play begins; he has his shoes rubbed and his periwig powdered at the barber's as you go into the Rose. It is for the good of the audience when he is at a play, for the actors have an ambition to please him.
Sam had leaped to his feet, empty handed and vociferous. "Ow ow, OUCH!" he shouted, as he rubbed his suffering arm and shoulder. Then, exasperated by Herman's lamentations, he called angrily: "Oh, what I care for your ole britches? I guess if you'd 'a' had a cat climb up YOU, you'd 'a' dropped 'em a hunderd times over!"
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