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I was thinking of that Sunday when I had recognised his broad shoulders, and recalling the thrill that recognition had brought me. The romantic hazardousness of life had for some considerable time now made its appeal felt by me.
She was painfully, ludicrously out of step; yet to judge by the light that shone now and then in her eyes, by the smile that played about the corners of her weak, tender mouth, she too had caught the sympathetic rapture, the intellectual thrill. Ready to drop was Miss Quincey, but she would not have missed that illuminating hour, not if you had paid her three times her salary.
Once, when too near the edge of the cliff, she put her foot on a fir-cone and stumbled, and the touch of her hand, as he caught hold of it to steady her, sent a thrill of keen, exquisite pleasure through his whole frame. He held it perhaps a little longer than necessary, and she let him.
The firm grasp of his hand as here and there he steadied her sent a thrill of exquisite pleasure through her. Love! She laughed softly; and he stopped and eyed her in astonishment. "What is it?" "Nothing," she answered. But she went on with the thought which had provoked her laughter. Love!
Not for the coarse object of creating an idle terror, not for the shock upon the nerves and the thrill of the grosser interest which the narrative of crime creates, has this book been compiled from the facts and materials afforded to the author.
It had been, however, as if the thrill of their association itself pressed in him, as great felicities do, the sharp spring of fear. "See here, you know: don't, don't !" "Don't what?" "Don't fail me. It would kill me." She looked at him a minute with no response but her eyes. "So you think you'll kill me in time to prevent it?"
Then suddenly a warm thrill passed over her long slender body but it seemed to have its starting point in her soul. She saw very distinctly the young man's dark handsome face, but she thought, "How absurd of me, to see him so distinctly, as distinctly as I see Margaret and Alice, when I love them so much, and I scarcely know Mr. von Rosen."
"Now that he's in Sing Sing?" corrected Mr. Andrews. "I HOPE so! She deserves it. That son of yours, Mrs. Bernard," he declared emphatically, "is no good!" The brutality shocked Mr. Thorndike. For the woman he felt a thrill of sympathy, but at once saw that it was superfluous. From the secure and lofty heights of motherhood, Mrs.
Maupassant had no time, he allowed himself no space, to reason about life; the need was upon him to tell story after story, each with its crisis, its thrill, its summing up of a single existence or a single action.
All his kindness and care for her comfort brought a thrill of gladness to the girl's heart, and some of the old debonnaire, half-defiant light back to her eyes, as she replied, while rising from her chair, in obedience to a gesture of playful authority from Clarence, "Will I accept a scolding and go to bed, that means."
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