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In the Five Towns, and probably elsewhere, when a woman puts her head out of her front door, she always looks first to right and then to left, like a scouting Iroquois, and if the air nips she shivers not because she is cold, but merely to express herself. "For goodness sake, keep your hands warm," Mrs Swann enjoined her son.
But when she had mechanically shod herself once more, not without nervous shivers at every falling needle, he was at her side. "Do you know anyone who wears a frieze coat like that?" he asked, handing her a few torn shreds of wool affixed to a splinter of bark. Miss Nellie instantly recognized the material of a certain sporting coat worn by Mr.
Hemans very naturally mistook for a Welsh legend, having first heard it in Denbighshire, the popular faith is universal that it shivers mystically in sympathy with the horror of that mother tree in Palestine which was compelled to furnish materials for the cross.
And Peter's body grew tense. Both faced the round hole, half filled with softly packed snow, which McKay had cut as a door into the heart of the big drift. They had grown accustomed to the tumult of the storm. Its strange wailings and the shrieking voices which at times seemed borne in the moaning sweep of it no longer sent shivers of apprehension through Peter.
"The hair of the dog is good for its bite." "Fifty dollars isn't much for a woman's life." "Fifty dollars buys considerable comfort in the shape of milk and ice and eggs. When it's gone if poor Shivers isn't I shall take the Baptist minister's wife and Miss Sally Ruth Dexter with me, and go and ask him for another check. He'll give it."
"When I think of the fix we should 'a' been in if she hadn't finished up the picture first, I assure you, boys, it gives me the shivers. Right here and now in the middle of being sorry it gives me the shivers!" "It does, does it?" There was something so ominous in Mr. Geltfin's sadly ironic remark something in tone and accent so lugubriously foreboding that his hearers swung about to stare at him.
Down Greenwich way that is to say, about in the heart of the city of New York in a room with a glaring south light that made even the thought of painting in it send shivers all over you, Jaune d'Antimoine lived and labored in the service of Art.
It was scarcely a whisper, more a breath that Shivers caught, but faint as it was, it sent the blood pounding to his temples until they showed red, like blotches of rouge under powder. "D-a-d-d-y y-o-u-r Zory got an awful b-u-m-p."
Her eyes were so bright that you were never sure if there were tears in them or not; little voluptuous shivers ran about her body; sometimes she nestled her chin into her throat, sometimes threw back her head, with ecstasy; in a word, she was in that state when it is said of people that they cannot contain themselves for happiness. It would be hard to exaggerate the agony of Richard.
Her laugh was almost a scream. His fury overflowed. After all, he was the son of a countryman, of the steward of Gerano. He snatched the ivory fan from her hand and struck her across the face with it. The fragile thing broke to shivers, and the fragments fell between them. Gloria turned deadly white, but there was a bright red bar across her cheek.
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