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Updated: May 16, 2025
One of the founders of the school, a well-known New England manufacturer, came on his yearly pilgrimage ... a fanatic disciple of the great Moreton, he considered it his duty to see to the immediate conversion, by every form of persuasion and subtle compulsion, of every newly arrived student. Rask was a tall, lean, ashen-faced man. He had yellow, prominent teeth and an irregular, ascetic face.
Rachael, ashen-faced, rose from her knees, and faced Mary and Millie. With bitter tears the story was told. He had been playing, as usual, in the barn, and Mary had been swinging him. Not high, nothing like as high as Jimmie went. And Millie came out to say that their dinner was ready, and all of a sudden he called out that he could swing without holding on, and put both his hands up in the air.
Franky was screaming too. He had got down from the table and rushed round to his younger sister, who, white, and shaking like a leaf, took the child in her arms. Bernard had risen, ashen-faced, staring. "It isn't true!" he shouted savagely at his father's traducer. "It's a lie!" "Didn't you know?"
"The evidence," said Lockley as Jill looked at him ashen-faced, "the evidence is all for monsters. But there was something in that broadcast that calls for courage, and I want to summon it. We're going to need it." "If they aren't monsters," said Jill in a stricken voice, "Then then they're men.
Loring, with his grip on the collar and his pistol at his captive's ear, marched an ashen-faced, scowling, scurrilous man, a dashing-looking fellow at times, a raging rascal now, cursing his wife for a foul traitress, cursing his captor for an accomplice, saying filthy words about women in general, until choked by a twist of the collar.
Long arms of vapour stretch across the urn-like valleys, and gradually thickening and swelling upward, enwrap the scored bodies of the ashen-faced peaks and the pastures of the green mountain, till the heights become islands over a forgotten earth.
Long arms of vapour stretch across the urn-like valleys, and gradually thickening and swelling upward, enwrap the scored bodies of the ashen-faced peaks and the pastures of the green mountain, till the heights become islands over a forgotten earth.
It rose higher as the brilliantly-lighted church split the night, and swept radiantly toward them. So high and clear that music flew, it seemed above, around, behind them. The governor, ashen-faced, crouched in the car; but the bishop said softly as the ecstasy pulsed in his heart: "Such music, such wedding music! What choir is it?" The lady looked at me severely; I glanced away.
She was a tall, angular woman of a harsh, forbidding countenance, flat-breasted and middle-aged. Behind her, farther back in the room, the roughrider caught a glimpse of a fat, gross, ashen-faced man fleeing toward the inner door of a bedroom to escape being seen. He was thrusting into his coat pocket what looked to the man in the hall like a revolver.
The camel pitched and rolled like a frigate in a rough sea and the chechia responded to the motion as it had on the Zouave. "Prince... prince" Murmured Tartarin, ashen-faced, and clutching the scanty hair of the hump, "Prince... let us get down, I feel... I feel I am going to disgrace France." But the camel was in full flight and nothing was going to stop it.
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