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He put his hand in his pocket, and drew out a small red paper which, when opened, disclosed a pink powder. It was gravely passed around the group. "Why, it smells and tastes like ginger," said one. "It is only ginger!" said another scornfully. "Mebbe it is, and mebbe it isn't," returned Cy Parker stoutly. "Mebbe ut's only my fancy.

All the smells that came to him were those of the jungle the soft mud smell, the odor of wet, green leaves and the smell of the falling rain. All those smells Umboo knew and loved. But he could not smell the other elephants, and if he could have done so he would have known which way to walk to get to them.

The ten policemen who had looked so formidable a week before, expressed a wish for what was left of the tinned corned beef. And with hackmen yelling from the street and caique men shouting from the water, the fifty hostages were swallowed up in the sunshine and smells and clatter of Constantinople. With The Turks At The Dardanelles

That's the only thing Chicago is good for, chop suey and smells. When they get through talking about the World's Fair perhaps they will think up some new form of amusement. I met a wop in Chicago, one of these real romantic kind that only grow there.

Dank, earthy smells of spring, odours of leaves water-soaked by melting snows, the faint perfume of flowers pushing up through mats of verdure, blew in on the night breeze. Pushing aside the flap, I looked out. The spur of a steep declivity cut athwart the cave. Now I could guess where I was. This was the hill down which I had stumbled that night the voices had come from the ground.

'Our air here is good to a proverb; the June days are fine; he may loiter away his time in the hay-field, and the sweet smells will be a balm in themselves better than physic.

If you don't, all the vinegar goes to the bottom together, and smells horribly sour." While Marzio was holding forth to his friends, the family circle in the Via dei Falegnami was enjoying a very pleasant evening in his absence. The Signora Pandolfi presided at supper in a costume which lacked elegance, but ensured comfort the traditional skirt and white cotton jacket of the Italian housewife.

But sights and sounds and smells were different from those he had last had when he fled away from it. There was no whimpering nor wailing. Contented sounds saluted his ear, and when he heard the angry voice of a woman he knew it to be the anger that proceeds from a full stomach. And there was a smell in the air of fish. There was food. The famine was gone.

He read the letter half asleep, Then started in dismay: "The road is long, and hell is deep, Your rocks I know are rough and steep . . . Yet like a king he'll pay!" He dons his cap of mist and furs, Then through the air the charger spurs. The grumbler, in his usual tone, Received him with a curse: "To Pomerania straight begone! Ugh! how he smells of eau de Cologne! Why, brimstone isn't worse.

All was perfectly still except for the dash of the stream over the rocks; but from one or two houses a thin skein of smoke was rising straight into the air. Anthony stood rapt in delight, and drew long breaths of the cool morning air, laden with freshness and fragrant with the mellow scent of the heather and the autumnal smells.