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Two young Irish girls, sisters, the beauties of the mill, magnificently colored creatures, were singing a little love-song together, while they tied on their hats to go home. "There are such pretty things in the world!" thought poor Sene. Did anybody speak to her after the girls were gone? Into her heart these words fell suddenly, "He hath no form nor comeliness.
What were you doing, Senath Martyn?" Sene swung slowly back, and sat down. "Amusing myself a little; well, unless somebody died, you said? But I believe I won't talk any more to-night. My head aches. Go home, Del." Del muttered a weak protest at leaving her there alone; but, with her bright face clouded and uncomfortable, went.
Sene had risen slowly, stood upon the log, caught at an aspen-top, and swung out with it its whole length above the water. The slight tree writhed and quivered about the roots. Sene looked down and moved her marred lips without sound. Del screamed and wrung her hands. It was an ugly sight! "O don't, Sene, don't! You'll drown yourself! you will be drowned! you will be O, what a start you gave me!
The fiueth daie aftre that, how Christe in his laste supper, for a continualle remembraunce of himself, instituted the moste holsome Sacramente of his bodie and bloud, vndre the fourme of breade and wine leauyng it to be sene and eaten of his.
"It's time for lights," said Meg Match, and swore a little at her spools. Sene, in the pauses of her thinking, heard snatches of the girls' talk. "Going to ask out to-morrow, Meg?" "Guess so, yes; me and Bob Smith we thought we'd go to Boston, and come up in the theatre train." "Del Ivory, I want the pattern of your zouave." "Did I go to church? No, you don't catch me!
Now wes the king cumin to the fute of the crag, and all his nobilis severit, heir and thair, fra him, at thair game and solace; quhen suddenlie apperit to his sicht the fairist hart that evir wes sene afore with levand creature.
She had a little baby at home. She was asking God to take care of it for her. "For Christ's sake," she said. Sene listened long for the Amen, but it was never spoken. Beyond, they dug a man out from under a dead body, unhurt. He crawled to his feet, and broke into furious blasphemies. As consciousness came fully, agony grew.
Je suis votre malade-ne, Et sur la casse et le sene, J'ai des notions non communes. Nous sommes de mene metier; Faut-il de moi vous defier, Et cacher vos bonnes fortunes?" Was there ever such a turn given to taking physic! "Que la veine hemorroidale De votre personne royale Cesse de troubler le repos! A kittenish grace in these things, which is pleasant in so old a cat.
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