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She laid her hand on his, and hers was trembling. "Well, then, why's he gone off all sudden like that?" "Only for a joke. Wait, I'll fetch him back." Cuckoo Bright looked frankly terrified at the idea. "No," she cried; "don't. I'm goin'. I'm off. Help me on with my cloak, dearie. I'm off." Julian saw that it was useless to argue with her. He put the cloak round her shoulders.
'Oh, said John, 'you are, are you? And why's that? 'Stubbs told me this afternoon, said James, c that he could smash me dead, but so far he has no particle of evidence against you. A light sprang into the burly scoundrel's eyes. He veiled it in an instant, but not before two of the quartette there present had read it.
'I don't want to think about the pleasures of memory, said Cyril; 'I want some more things to happen. 'We're very much luckier than any one else, as it is, said Jane. 'Why, no one else ever found a Psammead. We ought to be grateful. 'Why shouldn't we GO ON being, though? Cyril asked 'lucky, I mean, not grateful. Why's it all got to stop?
He had been telling me of a panther he had met in the woods, one day, and how the creature ran away at the sight of him. 'Why's a panther 'fraid o' folks? I enquired. 'Wall, ye see, they used t' be friendly, years 'n years ago folks 'n panthers but they want eggszac'ly cal'lated t' git along t'gether some way. An' ol' she panther gin 'em one uv her cubs, a great while ago, jes t' make frien's.
"Too difficult a question." "Why's that? Gruyere or Stilton?" "Gruyere, please." "Better have Stilton. "Stilton. Because, though I don't believe in auras, and think Theosophy's only a halfway-house " " Yet there may be something in it all the same," he concluded, with a frown. "Not even that. It may be halfway in the wrong direction. I can't explain.
Stubby, and as regards the joy of living Hero had done as much for Stubby as Stubby for Hero, came to a halt. The fun and frolic just died right out of him and he stood there staring at his father, who had turned the page and was settling himself to a new horror. At last Stubby spoke. "Why's he going to be shot on the first of August?" he asked in a tight little voice. His father looked up.
He will tell you wonderful things about oxygen gas how the air is full of it, the water full of it, every living thing full of it; how it changes hard bright steel into soft, foul rust; how a candle cannot burn without it, or you live without it. But what it is he knows not. Will he ever know? That is Lady Why's concern, and not ours. Meanwhile he has a right to find out if he can.
I'm tired: I haven't been sleeping very well." "Why's that? Overwork?" "No, it's nothing. I don't know why it is." "You ought to see somebody. I know what not sleeping means." "Why? . . . Are you sleeping badly?" Craven's eyes met Olva's. "No, I'm splendid, thanks. But I had a bout of insomnia years ago. I shan't forget it." "You look all right." Cravan's eyes were busily searching Olva's face.
"I suppose you get along with the same name?" suggested Glen. "I surely do. And my other name is Corliss, but the fellows call me Apple." "Why's that. Is it your round face and red cheeks?" "No. I couldn't help looking that way and the boys wouldn't throw it up to me. No, sir; they started to call me Core, then Apple-core, and so down to Apple." "It's a good name for you," said Glen.
He has always been a great figure in the native life, I believe, but now more than ever." "Why's that?" "Oh, battles are over and blood-feuds are done, but the need for a story-teller abides. In most villages he is a bigger man than the chief they're all 'ol' chiefs, the few that are left and when they die there will be no more.
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