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Why does she " He stopped abruptly, and, pressing the fingers of his two hands against his forehead, he stroked the brows over his closed eyes as if he were combing away error. "No, no!" he changed, "don't tell me yet. I must be alone; I must think. Come to me at nine to-night." "I I'll try to come," said Bonneton, with visions of an objecting wife. "You must come," insisted the detective.
I rushed out of the house and up to my treasure, and kissed his nose and stroked his mane. I could not get my fingers away from him. Horses are so like the very best and beautifullest of women when you caress them. They show their pleasure so at being petted. They curve their necks, and paw, and look proud. They take your flattery like sunshine and are lovely in it.
Yes, I suppose I must dress!" The little girl was now putting her dolls back into the dolls' house; the doorway was blocked up and she was pushing one through a broken window in the little house as Von Barwig caught her in his arms and caressed her. "How can I leave her? Good God, how can I leave her?" he groaned. He stroked her face, her hair, and kissed her again and again.
Two minutes ago the man would, without the least remorse, have shot the dog. Now as he reached him, and he listened to the beast's plaintive cries, he stretched out his arm and stroked its trembling sides, and then stooped to examine the wounded limb. And, stranger still, he tore off a portion of the woollen scarf that circled his waist and proceeded to bandage up the shattered member.
She placed her arms around his bony body, sucked him to her body, and said: "You dear humped little dummy... I love you so much " The ate a simple evening meal. She stroked him when something tasted good to her. She said that she wanted to remain with him until early morning. Then she could celebrate the beginning of her eighteenth birthday with him...
A girl and a man smiled at one another, a leering smile that threatened to last for evermore; a woman in a floppy capelline rested her arm on the rail and stared at Gibberne's house with the unwinking stare of eternity; a man stroked his moustache like a figure of wax, and another stretched a tiresome stiff hand with extended fingers towards his loosened hat.
Believe me, you will remember me and see that I am right, when you have gray hairs like myself, gray hairs such as these!" Here the old lawyer stroked his scanty white hair, as he smiled sadly and shook his head.
He slowly and carefully stooped down. It was a trick he had often performed in the circus on the high wire. But never under circumstances like this. Joe's hands came in contact with the fur of the cat's back. He gently stroked the animal, murmuring: "Come on now, Peter! Let go! Loosen your claws! I'm not going to hurt you. Let me pick you up!"
I think I saw this expression first when we began to speak of our meeting in the railway carriage, and I mentioned the poor little fair child my heart had ached so for. "It was such a little thing and it did so want to comfort her! Its white little clinging hands were so pathetic when they stroked and patted her," I said. "And she did not even look at it."
The child instantly gained confidence at the slight caress, took a fold of Peter's trousers in his hand for friendliness, and the two trudged on together. "Wh-whut you talkin' to yo' se'f for?" Peter glanced down at the little black head that promised to think up a thousand questions. "I was wondering where to go." "Lawsy! is you los' yo' way?" He stroked the little head with a rush of self-pity.
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