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And he did not come in vain, for, regardless of propriety and everything else, Elspie ran forward with a little shriek and flung herself into his arms. "I have kept my promise, Elspie." "I knew you would, Dan! I said you would." "Tan, you rascal! come here." The youth obeyed, languidly, for it was evident that he was thoroughly exhausted.
"If you have never worn them, why did you put them out to be cleaned?" "They were tan boots and had never been varnished. That was why I put them out." "Then I understand that on your arrival in London yesterday you went out at once and bought a pair of boots?" "I did a good deal of shopping. Dr. Mortimer here went round with me.
As Ann light-heartedly proffered her sprig of heliotrope, Eliot's face whitened beneath its tan, and with a swift, almost violent movement he snatched the spray from her hand and, flinging it on to the ground, set his foot upon it. She looked up in astonishment, then shrank back with a low exclamation of dismay as she saw his face.
See, I have it here," and as she spoke she drew Tan Gama's short-sword from beneath her sleeping silks and furs. The warriors sprang to their feet. "There is something amiss here," cried one. "'Tis even what I myself thought when Tan Gama left us at the runway," said another. "Methought then that his voice sounded strangely." "Come! let us hasten to the pits." We waited to hear no more.
He is still himself, but who would have thought it was Fred!" He was not disconcerted, for he had acquired aplomb in his journeys round the globe, but he gave her a glance of sad reproach, while Madame de Nailles said, quietly: "Yes, really How are you, Fred? The tan on your face is very becoming to you.
He must make up for lost time and get in touch again with passing events: especially he must post himself up on the subject of... the murder.... The paper dropped from his hands, and, feeling himself blanch beneath his artificial tan, Soames, in his old furtive manner, glanced around the saloon to learn if he were watched.
Besides, I've known Nat for years, and besides, he's a mighty good shot and That's the way it is, see? Next to Nat is Chet Dashaway. Great fellow for chinning. He'll talk your arm off, about religion or politics or books or anything." Carol gazed with a polite approximation to interest at Mr. Dashaway, a tan person with a wide mouth. "Oh, I know! He's the furniture-store man!"
Then he looked, and saw her own face pale under the tan, and stepped out to the platform to tell her. She took the news like a Spartan. Her gentle pity was simply expressed, and then she held her peace. He must go. He must leave her. She knew that the train would carry him to his mother's bedside quicker than a horse could go.
"All x, little fellow but it might be just as well if you didn't touch me. You see, I'm getting so rabid that I can't trust myself." "That's exactly what I want to talk to you about." A fiery blush burned through her deep tan, but her low, clear voice did not falter and her eyes held his unflinchingly. "I know you better than you know yourself, as I've said before.
My father will wish to talk to you. And be as frank with him as you have been with me." She smiled and nodded brightly, and turned away. He had a glimpse of a tan shoe and a slim tan-silk ankle, which poised birdlike above the high doorsill; and then she vanished into the black shadow of the companionway.
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