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Roger muttered: "Come here, my dear! A fine little boy!" "As fine a child as ever I saw!" said Mr. Morton, heartily, as he took Sidney on his lap, and stroked down his, golden hair. This displeased Mrs. Roger Morton, but she sat herself down, and said it was "very warm." "Now go to that lady, my dear," said Mr. Morton. "Is she not a very nice lady? don't you think you shall like her very much?"
I wouldn't go back to England now, to live, for anything in the world. I couldn't breathe." "You're a man. You have the best of it, and all the credit." "Not with everyone," said Nora. She fell on her knees beside the elder woman's chair and stroked her work-roughened old hand. "The outsiders don't know. You mustn't blame them, how could they?
"He's not to blame ill as he's been!" "Ah, so you too have been through bad times and have got to fight your way, eh? Then, as your father, I must truly be the last to blame you." Lasse stroked his son's sleeve, and the caress gave Pelle pleasure. "Cry, too, my son it eases the mind. In me the tears are dried up long ago.
Macbean stroked Beth's head "There is something in here, I expect," he observed. "Not much, I'm afraid," Mrs. Caldwell answered. "We've hardly been able to teach her anything." "Ah!" Mr. Macbean ejaculated, reflecting on the specimen he had heard of the method pursued. "You must let me see what I can do." In a few days all the bustle of getting into the new house began.
Reynolds stroked the dog, the count told him that 'the dog was of a curious breed, now almost extinct the Irish greyhound, of which only one nobleman in Ireland, it is said, has now a few of the species remaining in his possession Now, lie down, Hannibal, said the count. 'Mr. Reynolds, we have taken the liberty, though strangers, of waiting upon you 'I beg your pardon, sir, interrupted Mr.
He laughed in his black beard, felt the loins of the animal, stroked its muscles, seemed to want to urge it on still faster, while with nostrils open, teeth showing, all its limbs stretched out and unwearying in their vigorous elasticity, the aristocratic beast, the beast of prey, ardent in love and the chase, intoxicated with their double intoxication, its eyes fixed, was already enjoying a foretaste of its capture with a little end of its tongue which hung and seemed to sharpen the teeth with a ferocious laugh.
When he came back for occasional holidays, his mother's face was radiant with happiness, and her manner toward him was even more caressing than he approved of. When Maggie saw him repel the hand that fain would have stroked his hair as in childish days, a longing came into her heart for some of these uncared-for tokens of her mother's love.
They blew in through the barn door, streaming and soaked by the blinding sheets that drove scythe-like ahead of the wind. He struck a light, and the pony whinnied at recognition of his mistress. She stroked the little fellow's muzzle while Glenister cinched on her saddle. Then, when she was at last mounted, she leaned forward: "Will you kiss me once, Roy, for the last time?"
At the sight of her, Bess Thornton suddenly darted away from the man's grasp, ran to Mrs. Ellison, hid her face in her dress and sobbed. "I didn't think 'twas so bad," she said. "I I won't do it again ever." Mrs. Ellison, whose face expressed a tenderness in contrast to the hardness of her husband's, stroked the girl's hair softly, seated herself in a rocking chair, and drew the girl close to her.
She raised her hand and stroked, not without tenderness, his rumpled hair. "P'r'aps If you had a sweetheart, Ran, you'd leave off makin' a fool of your old mother." "I wouldn't leave off kissin' her," said he. And then, suddenly, it struck him that he had never kissed Winny. He hadn't even thought of it.
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