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'Sophronia, asked her husband, mockingly, 'are you sentimental? 'Well, well, my good sir, Mr Boffin interposed, 'it's a very good thing to think well of another person, and it's a very good thing to be thought well of BY another person. Mrs Lammle will be none the worse for it, if she is. 'Much obliged. But I asked Mrs Lammle if she was.

Build a temple, place the statue of this goddess in it, and call her Venus bellatrix." An artist belonging to the court instantly pressed forward, seized a stylus and waxed paper, and Sophronia, with chaste indignation, perceived that while Ævius was turning her indignant words into rhyme, the sculptor was trying to catch the movements of her superb figure.

'Never mind, Sophronia, we will not speak of it any more. Don't ask me about it. This plainly meaning Do ask me about it, Mrs Lammle did as she was requested. 'Tell me, Bella. Come, my dear. What provoking burr has been inconveniently attracted to the charming skirts, and with difficulty shaken off? 'Provoking indeed, said Bella, 'and no burr to boast of! But don't ask me. 'Shall I guess?

Sagittarius. "But to a sensitive nature it often seems gigantic." "You mean at night, I suppose? Does it disturb you very much?" "We hear it, ma'am, but it lulls us to rest." "Indeed. That is very fortunate. I fear it might keep me awake." "So we thought at first. But now we should miss it. Should we not, Sophronia?"

Change clothes with me; put on my veil. Your figure is like mine; no one will notice the difference. A trustworthy slave is waiting outside with horses. In an hour you can be clasped in the arms of your father and your lover." Glyceria closed her eyes sadly, crushing hot tears with their lids, as if she had said: "My father, my lover!" "And you?" asked Sophronia. "I shall stay here."

Then heavy masses of honeysuckles and vines which were trained against the house, grew dense and picturesque with foliage, and Sophronia would enjoy hours of perfect ecstasy, sitting in an easy-chair under the evergreens and gazing at the graceful outlines of the house and its verdant ornaments. But the cellar was obdurate.

Keep a-goin' till I holler." Both girls carried out these directions, the fat one falling down a couple of times, tripped by the long grass and getting up shaking with laughter. The boys were to learn that she was a chum of Grace Hooper, that her name was Sophronia Doyle, though commonly nicknamed "Skeets." The stake was placed.

Sophronia was by my side; but, instead of glorying with me in meeting the storm-king in his home, she complained bitterly of the rain. The unaccountable absence of her constitutional romanticism provoked me, and I remonstrated so earnestly, that the effort roused me to wakefulness. But Sophronia's complaining continued.

Just then we drove upon a bridge, which crossed a vile pool, upon the shore of which was a rolling-mill. "Here's the lake," said the agent; "Dellwild Lake, they call it. And here's the brooks emptying into it, one on each side of the road." Sophronia gasped and looked solemn.

We retired early, and in the delightful quiet of our rural retreat, with the moon streaming through our chamber window, Sophronia became poetic, and I grew too peaceful and happy even to harbor malice against the agent.