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As for me, I get on charmingly with the English nobility and sufficiently well with the gentry, but the upper servants strike terror to my soul. There is something awe-inspiring to me about an English butler.
For all you know he may be come too." The words appeared to startle Mrs. Roy; she looked up, and he saw that her face had gone white with terror. "Why! what does ail you?" cried he, in wonder. "Be you took crazy?" "I don't want him to come home," she replied in an awe-struck whisper. "Roy, I don't want him to." "You don't want to be anything but a idiot," returned Roy, with supreme contempt.
After thus meeting the eye of the unknown at intervals for more than an hour, when the table was beginning to clear, I rose, and limped out of the room as well as my complaints would let me, and was sauntering a few steps from the door, when judge of my terror on turning round, to find him of the black coat at my elbow! "In pain, sir, I see." All my alarm ceased in a moment.
This reality filled her with agonies of apprehension. She was never free of terror, and found herself studying her husband's impassive face, wondering what was behind those dull eyes, fearing the worst always. Ryder had been most attentive to Lucy Woodrow during the last two or three weeks.
"I know nothing only the name." She walked towards the door. Suddenly she uttered a cry. Tommy stared. She had caught sight of the picture he had laid against the wall the night before. For a moment he caught a look of terror in her eyes. As inexplicably it changed to relief. Then abruptly she went out of the room. Tommy could make nothing of it.
"But why are you afraid of him? He couldn't hurt you." "Of course he couldn't," said the ghost. "But his very presence is a shock and terror to me. Imagine, sir, how you would feel if my case were yours." I could not imagine such a thing at all. I simply shuddered.
The horrors of the Thirty Years' War, the boundless terror and pity which the unbridled license of the soldiery was exciting, must, no doubt, be taken to explain that success in some measure, but they do not wholly account for it.
Over the trail hung a cloud of smoke, and, as they turned a corner and came through this, they saw that they had arrived. Sylvia drew back and crooked her arm over her eyes. She had never seen a forest fire before. She came from the plain-country, where trees are almost sacred, and her first feeling was of terror.
With a vain and fickle people, fond of shows and innovations, nothing in a military despotism has a greater political utility, gives greater satisfaction, and leaves behind a more useful terror and awe, than Bonaparte's grand military reviews.
How had all this come about? It was Warrender who had seized him, who had flung him upon the floor, who had had he? tried to kill him? had he tried to kill him? Was that what Warrender meant? A wild flood of feeling, resentment, terror, desire for revenge, swept through Geoff's mind.
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