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Valdez, are the take-off gates, over the Palisade, correctly opened?" A dark, thin man saluted, as he answered with a Spanish accent: "Yes, sir. Everything is ready, sir." "Very well. Now, all to work! And then, each to his place, in engine-room, cabins, or however and where assigned. Come, come!"
It is the rococo school of behaviour, the flamboyant gentleman, the gargoyle life. The Blade is the tribute innocence pays to vice. He may look like a devil and belong to a church. And the clothing of the Blade, being symbolical, is a very important part of him. It must show not only a certain tastiness, but also decision in the accent, courage in the pattern, and a Dudley Hardihood of outline.
The ordinary look of the women was beauty, the ordinary accent was sweetness. The soft moonlight evenings were rendered doubly harmonious by the tender tinkling of the wandering guitar, or the tones of the plaintive flute; while, from every third dwelling, rose the more stately but scarcely sweeter melodies stricken by pliant fingers from the yielding soul of the divine piano.
However, I did venture to speak, in quite a humble voice, by and by, but the girl couldn't understand a word until I'd repeated everything twice. "A sunshade? Oh, you mean one of these parasawls," she said then. "Excuse me, it's your English accent I didn't quite catch at first. That one's ten dollars and forty-nine cents, and this is eight dollars, eighty-nine."
Rap, rap, rap, came now at the door, and a voice with a decided French accent, a voice that sounded familiar to me, said: "Ees any boady here?" "There, sir, it is the French." "I don't know that," said my father. Then: "Stand fast, my lads." "Ees any boady here?" said the same voice. "Yes. Who's there?" said my father. "Aha, it is good," came from outside.
Nancy concluded after a swift examination that she was, if peculiar looking, still strangely fascinating. "May I ask your pardon for intruding on your beautiful gardens?" began the woman, speaking with a slightly English accent. "I did not expect to meet any one on this rainy afternoon." Nancy wondered how she had got into the garden and where she had come from.
Listen to me, dear friend ... you will let me call you so?... I know people in power; I have sympathizers, I am sure of it, on the Committee of Public Safety itself. I will set my friends to work; they will deliver me, and I will deliver you." But Brotteaux in a voice that took on an accent of urgency: "By everything you hold dear, my child, do nothing of the sort!
Ethel Dent threw the question at him a little defiantly. "About going home." "Surely, you aren't going now?" He winced at the accent. "I am not sure. I volunteered for six months. My time is up; I paid my official visit to the Citadel yesterday." "Are you needed at home?" "No. At least, not in any real sense." "But you are needed here."
Again I ask if you can detect in any outline or accent a fixed point from whence the drawing was measured, calculated, and constructed. In the drawing of all the other painters you trace the method and you take note of the knowledge through which the model has been seen and which has, as it were, dictated to the eye what it should see.
She had an odd, persistent accent which irritated Mary's ears. If it was like anything the convent-bred girl had heard, it resembled the accent of a housemaid who "did" her bedroom in Cromwell Road. This maid had said that she was a London girl. And somehow Mary imagined that, if she had rings, she would like taking them out of a gold bag and putting them on at the dinner-table.
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