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He stopped, and the sheet of paper fell from his hands. "Well," she said, with all the eagerness of a new-born writer, "tell me, do you think them very bad?" "Well, Angela, you know " "Ah! go on now; I am ready to be crushed. Pray don't spare my feelings." "I was about to say that, thanks be to Providence, I am not a critic; but I think " "Oh! yes, let me hear what you think.
"I am sure she would think we were ill, and make us all come home at once," said Esther, laughing, "and perhaps make us go to bed. She gave us such a lot we couldn't possibly be hungry if we ate it all." "I have a penny," said Angela. "Shall we go and buy four tea-cakes at Mrs. Vercoe's? That will be one each, and better than nothing." Better than nothing indeed! One of Mrs.
Her dainty and expensive clothes were a part of her individuality, as its petals are of a rose; and she appeared to think of them no more than a nun thinks of her veil. But Nick felt this morning that Angela had come down from her shining heights to be human with him. She laughed like a schoolgirl, in sheer pleasure of motion which the big car gave after martyrdom with the Model.
He had seated himself in a low fauteuil, and was turning over the pages of the month's "Revue de Deux Mondes", humming a little tune under his breath as he did so, but he rose when he saw Angela, and advanced smilingly to greet her as she stopped short, with a little startled exclamation of surprise at the sight of him.
"What will not be serious, my dear?" asked Mrs. Vivian, who had come back to the drawing-room, and who, apparently, could not hear that the attribute in question was wanting in any direction, without some alarm. "Shall I tell mamma, Bernard?" said Angela. "Ah, my dear child, I hope it 's nothing that threatens your mutual happiness," mamma murmured, with gentle earnestness.
She stopped, and then said, with just the faintest tinge of bitterness in her voice: "If it had been Angela who cried, you would not be so cold, you would have kissed away her tears." Who can say what hidden chord of feeling those words touched, or what memories they awoke? but their effect upon Arthur was striking. He sprang up upon the deck, his eyes blazing, and his face white with anger.
The Hawthornden is a resolute looking fellow, but it indulges in the loveliest pink and white blossoms, and waxen, delicate, peachy fruit. 'Uncommonly sour! Thank you, Cherry, said Felix. 'Not in a pie, suggested Alice. 'Properly treated and sweetened, eh ? asked he, smiling on her. 'But why is Felix like a stickleback? said Angela.
The blessed Angela of Foligno was rather glad to be relieved of her husband and children, who died and left her leisure to enjoy the love of God. All this is quite unlike the real spirit of the historical Jesus.
A shriek of horror from Angela marked the climax, as Denzil fell with Fareham's sword between his ribs. There had been little of dilettante science, or graceful play of wrist in this encounter. The men had rushed at each other savagely, like beasts in a circus, and whatever of science had guided Fareham's more practised hand had been employed automatically.
She bent forward and kissed his forehead as a sister might have done. "God bless you, Angela!" he said. He could not utter another word. "Mother," said the girl, taking in hers the passive hand of the woman, who had sat with face averted perhaps so that she should not meet the eyes of the man whom she could not forgive "mother, speak to him; say good-bye to him before he goes."
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