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"Too late now," responded Jack, the juice running down from his mouth. "Taste's good, anyhow." They all watched Jack while he devoured his slice of fruit. Washington acted as if he expected his friend to topple over unconscious, but Jack showed no bad symptoms. "You'd better all have some," the boy said. "It's the best I ever tasted."

Neave's taste was too exquisite for his means was like some strange, delicate, capricious animal, that he cherished and pampered and couldn't satisfy. "Don't you know those little glittering lizards that die if they're not fed on some wonderful tropical fly? Well, my taste's like that, with one important difference if it doesn't get its fly, it simply turns and feeds on me.

Branding calves of silver with flaming irons and turning 'em out to feed on a pasture of purple grass with emeralds and sapphires for blossoms all growing around. And then " "Think again. Say, your taste's just cheap. But we're talking of Mrs. Van Blooren." "I'm sorry. Why, I guess she's daughter to the Carruthers's. John D. Carruthers. He was principal at St. Bude's College. Pensioned.

A taste's enough till we get to a camp to-morrow. Handy, those camps, for prospectors needin' a grubstake. Let's camp over there by that lonesome yucca palm. He looks as if he wanted company. Maybe he'll whisper where they's gold to-night if we keep on ear awake. He-he! Oh, they whisper lots lots lots! But they always lie like sin!"

This is what architecture requires; for architecture is building, pure, building for its own sake, not as means. What Mr. Garbett says is, no doubt, quite true, that nothing was ever made, for taste's sake, less efficient than it might have been. But many things were made more efficient than they might have been; or, rather, this is always the character of good architecture.

The taste's barbarian, I don't doubt. Miss Le Mesurier's lips instinctively pouted a mischievous 'bourgeois' towards Mallinson. He remarked hastily that he thought the curtain was on the point of rising, and Miss Le Mesurier pushed her opera-glasses towards him with a serene 'Not yet, I think. Mallinson understood the suggestion of her movement and relapsed into a sullen silence.

"And she did, John; at least I took 'em home, and they held hands all the way there, though they didn't know I saw 'em." "Well, Drusilla, you did have a nice time after all. I suppose you'll be going out every night now." "John, you got more hair then sense. I'm glad I haven't died before I seen this dinner dancin'; but it's like them spoiled fish sandwiches one taste's enough."

I'm started, thanks to Dick Benyon and myself. I've got my seat, I can go on now. But I'm an outsider still." He paused a moment. "I feel that; Benyon feels it too. I want to obviate it a bit. I mean to marry." "An insider?" asked the old lady. She looked at him steadily. "Your taste's too bad," she said; he was certainly dressed in a rather bizarre way. "And your manners," she added.