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"I don't believe thar's a man in the States what's got as much devil to thar square inch as this man Swanson. Better not go, Cap'n. I'd hate tremendous to have you killed." Chip laughed lightly, as he stroked the neck of the Ranger's horse, and said: "Brodey, I've been a detective for five years, and in those five years I've looked almost sure death in the face more than a score of times.
Now, what can you do with this baby? Could you get rid of it a little? This is serious. This is a talent in danger. A fiddler, and a baby! C'est beaucoup! C'est trop!" Gyp smiled. And Monsieur Harmost, whose exterior covered much sensibility, stroked her hand. "You have grown up, my little friend," he said gravely. "Never mind; nothing is wasted. But a baby!" And he chirruped his lips.
Just once his hand stroked her soft hair, then, catching himself, he went to the opposite side of the narrow table and sat down. When the girl raised her head there was a bright flush in her cheeks. He could see the damp stain of tears on her face, but there was no sign of them now in the eyes that seemed seeking in his own the truth of his words, spoken a few moments before.
The gentleman looked queerish, as if he did not comprehend the question, and answered, "Oh! certainly, sir certainly we do not object to give you our notes for it," at the same time producing an extremely dirty bundle of worn-out bits of paper. Roger stroked his chin.
"Wal, I'll be dog-goned!" ejaculated Daggs, thoughtfully, as he stroked his long mustache. "I'll say to them what I've said to y'u," went on Ellen. "I'll tell dad to make y'u let me alone. I wouldn't marry one of y'u y'u loafers to save my life. I've my suspicions about y'u. Y'u're a bad lot." Daggs changed subtly. The whole indolent nonchalance of the man vanished in an instant.
And reviewing it all, and then casting grimly forward into his future, he suddenly awoke, as he gently stroked this mettled horse, to a strange likeness between the spirit of horse and mistress. He turned to Helen. "You are very much alike," he declared "you and your horse." Then he paused as if in thought.
He was quite a stranger, you know, Miss Grey, and even YOUNGER nor Maister Hatfield, I believe; and I had thought him not so pleasant-looking as him, and rather a bit crossish, at first, to look at; but he spake so civil like and when th' cat, poor thing, jumped on to his knee, he only stroked her, and gave a bit of a smile: so I thought that was a good sign; for once, when she did so to th' Rector, he knocked her off, like as it might be in scorn and anger, poor thing.
So he set his teeth and admonished the grey Turcoman, called him the decrepit son of a donkey, being without speed; and to punish him stroked his neck gently: even this forced diversion bringing him closer to the torturing sweetness of the girl. But now he was aware of a throbbing on the night wind, and a faint shrill note that lay deep in the shadows beyond.
The smell of the pine logs filled Eric with old memories; he slipped on to a foot-stool and sat with his head resting against his mother's knees, drowsy and a little wistful. He wished that he could go back to a time when life was less complicated and he could still confide in her. "Tired, old boy?" asked Lady Lane, as she stroked his head. "No. Only thinking.
Then the back of the head is stroked upward also. After this is well done, the top of the head is stroked similarly from front to back. Then the whole head, except the forehead, is rubbed briskly but lightly with the tips of the fingers with a scratching motion, but not using the nails. This is best done piece by piece, taking care to do every part in turn.
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