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Mayakin looked into his face with regret, smacked his lips and said: "A wise man would never ask such a question. A wise man knows for himself that if it is a river, it must be flowing somewhere, and if it were standing in one place, it would be a swamp." "You're simply mocking me at random," said Foma, sternly. "The sea is not flowing anywhere."
They said good-bye to the destroyer men who had ferried them across, and climbed the ladder to the deck, where they were immediately surrounded and smacked on the back, and generally congratulated. The two were very popular with the whole of their battalion, and their comrades were unfeignedly glad to find that they had not lost the number of their mess.
When they were captured by the unsympathetic Abe and restored to their excited ladies, they flew at and smacked them soundly, then tossed back their red combs and crowed with all their might: a pæan to the ever conquering male. There were other flowers besides Castilian roses in Isabel's garden, haphazardly set out and cared for, but the more riotous and luxuriant for that.
"La, sir, I'm sure you are welcome to my company in a civil way; and for the matter of that you are right; life is life, and there's plenty to be learned in a public do but open your eyes and ears." "Have another glass with me. I am praised for my punch." "You deserve it, sir. Better was never brewed." She sipped and sipped, and smacked her lips, till it was all gone.
I am afraid that you have lost a five or ten-dollar piece. He evaded. 'It's of no moment. he said hastily. 'A few bucks one way or the other won't plug a hole in a 'dobe wall. And this hombre is waiting. This time Helen did not even gasp. Something had occurred to work havoc with her father's accustomed fine academic speech. This smacked, she thought, of the influence of Barbee.
The single approbation of Father De Berey was worth more than the praise of a world full of ordinary eating mortals, who smacked their lips and said things were good, but who knew no more than one of the Cent Suisses why things were good, or could appreciate the talents of an artiste of the cordon bleu. Maitre Guillot's Easter pie had been a splendid success.
August Meyer presided in the evening. The two uniformed giants smacked their lips over the morning Manhattan cocktail. "This saloon used to be a German sort of headquarters. But the new fellows are our own people, the right sort. They knew it's an Irish neighborhood.
The one opened the door with a latch-key and went in, followed by a young fellow who awkwardly removed his cap. He wore rough clothes that smacked of the sea, and he was manifestly out of place in the spacious hall in which he found himself. He did not know what to do with his cap, and was stuffing it into his coat pocket when the other took it from him.
Replacing the cork, he smacked his lips twice or thrice with an air of great relish, and, the taste of the liquor having by this time evaporated, recurred to his grievance again. 'Five minutes to three, growled Newman; 'it can't want more by this time; and I had my breakfast at eight o'clock, and SUCH a breakfast! and my right dinner-time two!
"Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste Brought death into the world, and all our woe." it was so sweet that, while telling me about it sixty years afterwards, he smiled and smacked his lips, renewing as it were the delight of its delicious taste. He always avoided, as much as possible, the danger of dying of hard work, so he is living yet, and is eighty-six years old.
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