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"Love is scarcely the word, nor adoration, nor worship! She is the soul of my soul! She lives in my life, and my life is the larger, higher, holier for her!" "Humph! I don't understand one word of what you are talking about, but I suppose it means that you really do love Salome. So the first condition will be fulfilled," said the banker, with a smile. "And the second, sir. What is the second?"
It's a savin'. The rest are nothing but girls I'm all the boy we've got. Boys are tough. But I don't s'pose you ever was one, so you don't know?" There was an upward inflection to the voice of the Little Blue Overalls. An answer seemed expected. "No no, I never was one," Miss Salome said, hastily. She could hear Anne's plodding steps in the hall. It would be embarrassing to have Anne come in now.
Salome, the carriage is ready, and if you desire to see Jessie immediately I will take you over as soon as possible. There is a full moon, and you can return with me or remain at the Asylum until morning. Confer with my sister concerning the disposal of this little refugee."
Salomè still stood, balancing herself on one foot, the point of her tongue just visible, while from the gallery beyond, in whose shadows he divined the instigating presence of Herodias, came the grave music of an Hebraic hymn. “So be it,” he groaned. The order was given, and a tear trickled down through the paint and furrows of his cheek. On the hall a silence had descended.
But there, nothing short of a miracle would convince Judith; so there is no use in thinking about it. Yes, Lionel Hezekiah must have gone to sleep." Salome pictured him so, with his long, curling lashes brushing his rosy, tear-stained cheek and his chubby fists clasped tightly over his breast as was his habit; her heart grew warm and thrilling with the maternity the picture provoked.
The innate leaven of superstition triumphs over common sense and scientific realism, and men and women are awed by coincidences that reason scouts, but credulity receives with open arms. Salome, I regret exceedingly that I am forced to trouble you, but there are some important letters which I wish to mail to-day, and you will greatly oblige me by acting as amanuensis while I dictate.
The knotted roots of an old beech tree furnished a resting-place, and Salome sat down and leaned her head against the scarred trunk, where lightning had once girdled and partially destroyed it, leaving one-half the branches leafy, the remainder scorched and barren.
All literatures were ransacked for themes. This painter suffered from the nostalgia of the ideal. When a subject coincided with his technical expression the result approximates perfection. Consider the Salome, so marvellously paraphrased in prose by Huysmans. The aquarelle in the Luxembourg is more plastic, more jewelled than the oil; Moreau often failed in the working-out of his ideas.
But Blanch forgot, or rather did not know, that she had to do with genius over whose individuality most men are prone to trip. Chiquita's conception of plastic art was something different from vulgar Salome creations and the cheap spring-song and lolling and capering of the fatted calf just alluded to.
Moreover, Salome is not at home. How long will you be absent?" "Probably a week or ten days, possibly longer. If poor Horace lingers, I shall remain with him." "Wait one moment, Ulpian. Before you go I want to speak to you about Salome." "Well, Janet, I lend you my ears. Has the girl absolutely turned pagan and set up an altar to Ceres, as she threatened some weeks since?
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