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I had thought that, perhaps, if no other man came that some time I might " Becky picked up her riding crop, and as she talked she tapped her boot in a sort of staccato accompaniment. "That other man has come," tap-tap, "he kissed me," tap-tap, "and made me love him," tap-tap, "and he has gone away and he hasn't asked me to marry him."
There came, too, through that embrasure, or through the gateway of the fort, every now and again, the rattle of rifles, the sharp tap-tap of machine-guns, and the snap and bark of the soixante-quinze as the French sent their curtain-fire out beyond the plateau.
With her hands stuffed against rising sobs, his mother ceased rocking herself to and fro in her straight chair, her eyes straining through the open door. A thin voice came through, querulous, and then the tap-tap of a cane. Mr. Herman Loeb answered the voice, standing quiet at the bed-end. "Nothing is the matter, grandma." "Come and get me, Herman." "Yes, grandma."
The reflection of what seemed to be a huge bonfire grew so strong that they left the logging trail for fear of discovery and stole forward cautiously through the woods. Rappa-tappa-tap-tap . . . tap-tap! RAP-tappety-tap-tap . . . tap-tap! A medley of many voices rose in a weird chant which struck across the night like the wall of some stricken victim of the loup garou.
Her face was slightly flushed, and the toe of her right shoe kept an impatient tap-tap on the flagged floor. "He can't possibly have known." "We'll hope not," said Dinah. "It's thoughtless, though put it at the best: and any way it don't speak too well for his past." "He may have bought it, you know," urged Mrs Bosenna; "late in life."
Here a long dark tunnel opens into sunlight and shops on each side, with great vines trailed on trellis-work like a pergola overhead, and sunlight in blotches on the cobbled paving below: there, just beyond, the Slipper Quarter, and we find ourselves in the thick of the tap-tap of the mallets on the hard-hammered leather dozens of busy little shops on each side, lined with yellow matting, and hung from top to floor with rows of lemon-yellow slippers for the men, rose-red slippers for women, embroidered slippers for the wealthy, crimson slippers for slaves, slippers with heel-pieces and slippers without.
Then he said we could go early, while the fine folk are still having their dinners." She turned to her stepmother, then giggled happily. "He particularly said you was to come, too. The lodger has a wonderful fancy for you, Ellen; if I was father, I'd feel quite jealous!" Her last words were cut across by a tap-tap on the door. Bunting and his wife looked at each other apprehensively.
Or did the last note die away with a long-drawn choking sound, as of some one struggling for breath? . . . And, last time, it had been the tap-tap of a hammer. . . . Surely, strange noises haunted this alley. . . . I listened. I knew that I must be standing near the small door in the wall, though in the darkness I could not see it. The sinister sound was not repeated.
But though feverish and on the verge of wildness, she had still some command over herself, and after giving him a look, the intensity of which called out a corresponding expression on his face, she faltered out: "I I don't care; I don't know either of the gentlemen; but to the one you call Howard, I think." The pause which followed was filled by the tap-tap of Mr. Gryce's fingers on his knee.
The regular "tap-tap" of the cobbler's hammer continued for an hour until dusk, and all the while the soldier lay dressed on his bed. Soon after, a creaking of the stairs told of the surreptitious approach of the unwilling host. He listened outside, and even tried the door, but found it bolted. The soldier, open-eyed on the bed, snored aloud.
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