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Eyes, ears, arms and legs were pierced; every inch of the poor writhing body that did not cover a vital organ became the target of the cruel lancers. The women and children shrieked their delight.
At that moment I first fully understood that Severus was the present and I the future Caesar. Geta had only to obey, like every one else. "After kissing the image, I stood, still holding my father's hand, to watch the flames. I can see them now, crackling and writhing as they gained on the wood, licking it and fawning, as it were, till it caught and sent up a rush of sparks and fire.
After a second's hesitation, both lads ran to the wall, climbed up, and looked over. In an unmistakable fit, the man was writhing on the ground. Johnny and Albert ran quickly across lots and into Rev. Paul Brighton's study.
The picture of the girl he disliked so intensely, writhing in the great hands of the brute opposite him, appealed to the elder's sardonic humor. "That wouldn't be a bad idea," he averred. "But she's got some one who won't see her hurt." Letts jumped up and stepped close to the desk where the other was sitting. Here was a complication he hadn't anticipated.
I'll take your class, or find a substitute." In a few minutes he was gone; but they were not alone, for he had made them conscious of One who is touched with the feeling of our infirmities. How was the absent husband and father fulfilling the hopes that daily turned to him, but found no reward? He was literally writhing under chains that, to his horror, he could not break.
When I first saw the Laocoon in the Vatican, I felt that I saw the symbol of the country; there was Italy writhing in the folds of the great Cobra di Capella, the Papacy. I cannot here go into the ceremonies practised at Rome, and which present so faithful a copy, both in their forms and in their spirit, of the pagan idolatry.
Again, already, none knew who might not glimpse the dawn; again the hell-hot shrapnel and the writhing human flesh. To-morrow that arm may be a shattered, jagged hanging "thing" ... how firm, fine, and white it looks: smooth, strong.... You look curiously along the line of adjacent faces. Can ALL come through impossible. Who will go under first ... will it be YOU? Wonder what it is like to die?
Beyond was a roll of real country, with a white path sprawling across it, and the roots, boles, and branches of great gray trees writhing and twisting against the sky. But as if to assert that the lane itself was suburban, were sharply relieved against that gray and tossing upland a lamp-post painted a peculiar yellow-green and a red pillar-box that stood exactly at the corner.
The strong afternoon sun drove on his way westward, and still I lay there, writhing and whimpering, and wondering, perhaps, a little inwardly that the sky did not fall in and crush me and the wicked world altogether.
Then she sat down in a chair by the hearth, where a log was still burning. The light of the flame flickered upon her face, and threw upon the ceiling a writhing, fantastic shadow, the odious caricature of her gentle beauty. In that still air of the Florentine winter, time seems to share the arrest of the natural forces, the repose of the elements.
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