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They had sent a challenge to Grovebury College, and it had been accepted. "Saturday morning's a weird time for a match!" said Blossom, re-reading the letter to her chums. "But their captain says it's the only time they can get their field. It's used by another club in the afternoons, so she's fixed eleven o'clock." "It suits me rather decently," said Janie Potter.
Flambeau was looking round him in rather a weird way. "Do you know," he said, "there is something about this place that " "Hullo!" called out the Duke sharply; "that fellow's disappeared. Vanished, like a blasted fairy!" "He has a key," explained their clerical friend.
She begged forgiveness for some fancied wrong, and repeated that a certain man was not guilty of dishonesty. But her first weird cry had to do with the murder, I'm sure." We walked back toward the road together. High overhead we heard the droning of an aeroplane and we both stopped to gaze at it. Suddenly the coroner clapped me on the shoulder. "I've got it!" "What do you mean?"
The fact that this weird production stands at the end of the collection has made upon many minds a wrong impression as to its meaning, and has given it a kind of significance to which it is not entitled. The authorship of the book is quite generally ascribed to John the son of Zebedee, brother of James, and one of the apostles of our Lord.
He then shouted for Martin; and told him what had happened, and begged him to go a little way towards Tergou, and watch the road. "Ay!" said Martin, "and if I see Dirk Brower or any of his men, I will shoot an arrow into the oak-tree that is in our garden; and on that you must run into the forest hard by, and meet me at the weird hunter's spring. Then I will guide you through the wood."
They were still lying under the wreck when I came. The fire was out. The water running over the edge of the tank had frozen into huge icicles that hung like a great white shroud over the bier of the two dead heroes. It was a gas-fixture factory, and the hundreds of pipes, twisted into all manner of fantastic shapes of glittering ice, lent a most weird effect to the sorrowful scene.
Poe could lose no time in preparing a place for his climax; and therefore he was obliged, as soon as he had laid Ligeia in the grave, to begin an elaborate description of the stage settings of his final scene. The place must be wild and weird and arabesque. It must be worthy to receive a resurrected mortal revisiting the glimpses of the moon.
There is a comic side, more or less appreciable, in all blackguardism: here there was nothing but tragedy mute, weird tragedy. The quiet in the room was horrible.
In his ears there rang already the steady plash of the paddle, the weird melancholy song of the boatmen, the music of the wind amidst the forest trees. Durnovo rose briskly. "Then," he said, "you will join us? I may telegraph out to Meredith that you will join us?" "Yes," replied Oscard simply. "You may do that." "There is no time to be lost," Durnovo went on.
Fortunately for this delusive hopefulness there was no weird and boding Cassandra to pierce the veil of the future for us, and reveal the length and the ghastly horror of the Valley of the Shadow of Death, through which we must pass for hundreds of sad days, stretching out into long months of suffering and death.
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