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Pocahontas watched them drive away, laughing and slapping one another's knees. The man they called Smithy was the nicest looking. She had given her new valise to a gray-haired 'busman who looked a little like the minister at home.
"My patience!" murmured Mrs. Dodge, slapping her dough smartly. "Fanny ought to be ready by now. They'll be late both of 'em." She hurriedly crossed the kitchen to where, through a partly open door, an uncarpeted stair could be seen winding upward. "Fanny!" she called sharply. "Fanny! ain't you ready yet?"
In a few minutes The Don is as fit as ever, and slapping Shock on the back says pleasantly, "Come, along, old fire-eater. We've got to win this game yet," and Shock goes off with him, still looking much ashamed. McGill kicks from the twenty-five line, but before the scrimmage that follows is over time is called, with an even score.
At length Kate began to think it was just possible the horses might be growing wearied with the slapping pace, and checked her steed; but this was not an easy matter, as the horse seemed to hold quite a contrary opinion, and showed a desire not only to continue but to increase its gallop a propensity that induced Harry to lend his aid by grasping the rein and compelling the animal to walk.
All the sounds then trooped in pictures before her mind. When she heard the stamp of the foot, the dull slapping thud of the heavy blow, and the moaning rush of breath, she saw that bleeding face falling out of the sickly lamplight into the sooty shadows. At last she could bear it no longer. Her imagination was gloating in her mind over the horrors that it drew. She forced her eyes to look.
Get onto that rubbing-board; I'll warm you." An instant later the cow-men heard the sounds of a violent slapping mingled with groans. "Go easy, I say! I'll be black and blue all LOOK OUT! not so much in one spot! Ow!" "Turn over!" "He's spankin' him," said Stover admiringly.
The sound sent Sheila's blood in a slapping wave back upon her heart. All of her body turned cold. She was fastened by stone feet to the ground. It was the laughter of a mob of damned souls, an inhuman, despairing mockery of God. It tore the quiet evening into shreds of fear. This house was a madhouse holding revelry. No of course, they were wolves, a pack of wolves.
They all greeted him at once, shaking hands and slapping him on the back, as they hustled him gleefully back to the corner table and made him sit down. "Say, garsong," said Nick Baumgarten to their favourite waiter, who came at once in answer to his summons, "let's have a porterhouse steak, half the size of this table, and with plenty of mushrooms and potatoes hashed brown. Here's Mr.
You," he said to Bill, slapping him lightly on the breast with the back of his lax fingers. Bill struck at him ferociously, but the slope-shouldered giant sent it by with his left wrist, kicking the feet of the striker from under him with a frightful swing of his right foot a trick which appalled Joe. "Clear the track there," ordered Lime.
"I never saw more devil, if I may say it, stirred up in a lady. There was two bright red spots on her cheeks, and her eyes looked exactly like a wildcat's I'd seen in the zoo. Her foot kept slapping the floor all the time. "'Waiter, she orders, 'bring me filtered water without ice. Bring me a footstool. Take away this empty salt-cellar. She kept him on the jump.
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