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Were they going to stand tamely by and see trade ruined, and their families starving, that the tyrants who wrung from them the taxes should fatten at ease? Such was the tenor of the orations delivered by scores of men to their comrades on the quays.
You have not yet begun!" She was full of the thing. "By my faith, I have wrung the necks of the pair of them," said Prosper. "I know not how they can expect more of me than that." "Listen," said Alice of the Hermitage, "the bird will be again chased, again wounded. Morgraunt is full of hawks. You will see her again. My dream was very precise.
Although at another time Mr Swiveller might have looked upon this as a doubtful compliment, he felt it, under the then-existing circumstances, a great relief to be assured that he was not wrongfully suspected. When he had made a suitable reply, Mr Brass wrung him by the hand, and fell into a brown study, as did Miss Sally likewise.
Was he in some bleak cell behind that crumbling masonry? Did he know that she was here? Or was he really dead? Ah, perhaps it were better that death should have taken him better that than having his living heart wrung by the tale of his daughter's unspeakable miseries.
The flutes of Lydia hushed before their voice, Before the messengers the "Highest" sprung The god against the marble pillars, wrung By the dred words, striking his brow, and thrice Cried he aloud in anguish "Varus! Varus! Give back my legions, Varus!"
'May the blessed Virgin give me patience! muttered he, as he wrung his hands despairingly. 'I hope she will; and give you more, Mathew Kearney. I hope she'll give you a hearty repentance. I hope she'll teach you that the few days that remain to you in this life are short enough for contrition ay contrition and castigation.
Then in due time came the Carmo Church, still unrepaired since 1755; Blackhorse Square, still bare of trees; the Government offices, still propped to prevent a tumble-down, and the old Custom House, still a bilious yellow; the vast barrack-like pile of S. Vicente, the historic Se or cathedral with dumpy towers; the black Castle of Sao Jorge, so hardly wrung from the gallant Moors, and the huge Santa Engracia, apparently ever to be a ruin.
The words were wrung from him with slow terrible effort, as though he were forcing himself to draw nearer and nearer some spot of supreme mental struggle. She listened, stilled, as she had never been by any words of his. At the same time she felt stifled felt that she should have to cry out that he could be so deeply moved and so self-controlled. More slowly, with more composure, he went on.
“But you can’t spare the time to come with him, and if he should forget himself and lose his way and somebody spoke to him sharply, his name and address may slip his memory, and he’ll remain lost for days and days—” The vision of a workhouse infirmary for poor Stevie—if only during inquiries—wrung her heart. For she was a proud woman. Winnie’s stare had grown hard, intent, inventive.
She had never known but one romance, and it was over and done. The floods had washed it away. "You are right. War does not wait even for me," she exclaimed. "It came to meet me, to destroy me, when I was not armed. It came in the night as you have come, and found me helpless as I am now." Suddenly she clasped her hands and wrung them, then threw them above her head in a gesture of despair.
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