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With a quick exclamation, he ran forward into the edge of the water. Then he drew back. "Save him," Phebe commanded. "Go in! I can't do anything in this horrid gown." As she spoke, she tugged fiercely at her fluffy skirt which, wet to her knees, clung closely about her feet. "Go in and get him!" she commanded again. Then for the hour, Gifford Barrett wished that the sand would close over him.
They had as much as given one another a pledge that their home likewise should be broken up. "Are you not almost too severe a student?" Mr. Barrett happened to say to Cornelia, the day after Wilfrid had worried her. "Do I show the signs?" she replied. "By no means. But last night, was it not your light that was not extinguished till morning?"
We know that she was sad, often ill, that she bore eight children. She passed out seemingly unwept, unhonored and unsung, after a married existence of sixteen years. Elizabeth Barrett had the same number of brothers and sisters that Shakespeare had; and we know no more of the seven Barretts who were swallowed by oblivion than we do of the seven Shakespeares that went not astray.
Master says to me this morning, "Look out," 'e says, "Saunders, for them boys as come in 'ere after eggs, and frighten all the birds out of the dratted place. You keep your eyes open, Saunders," 'e says. 'Well, if 'e's still in the woods, we'll 'ave 'im safe. 'If he's still in the woods! thought Barrett with a shiver. After this there was silence.
This indifference to her health naturally wounded Miss Barrett very deeply; but it also gave her the right of taking her fate into her own hands. Convinced at last that no refusal on her part could alter Mr.
There was a short silence: then, "Did Mrs. Barrett ever... see anythink, like?" somebody vaguely inquired. Barrett turned austerely on the speaker. "What Mrs. Barrett saw and Mrs. Barrett didn't see shall not pass these lips; even as it is written, keep thy tongue from speaking evil," he said. Another man spoke. "He was pretty near canned up in the Waggon and Horses that night, weren't he, Jim?"
Potter Palmer, the Chanler sisters of New York, and many more. He has painted landscapes, as well. Professor Barrett Wendell possesses a charming example. Most recently he has been engaged on a large mural decoration, best fitted, perhaps, for a music room, showing Pan seated on a tree trunk by a lake, making into a pipe the broken reeds in his hand after Syrinx eluded him. No horizon line shows.
"She's at peace at last," he said, solemnly, to Jernshaw. "I believe you killed her," said his friend. Mr. Barrett started violently. "I mean your leaving broke her heart," explained the other. Mr. Barrett breathed easily again. "It's your duty to look after the children," said Jernshaw, firmly. "And I'm not the only one that thinks so."
He sank to the floor again. "I can give you nothing," said Fong Wu bluntly. "I do not keep what you want." With a curse, Barrett was up again. "Oh, you don't," he screamed, leering frenziedly. "You yellow devil! You almond-eyed pigtail! But I know you do! And I must have it. Quick! quick!" He hung, clutching, on the edge of Fong Wu's wide ironing-table, an ashen wreck. Fong Wu shook his head.
"I'm going right back with you to-night. Three of us will be none too many to handle this thing when the news gets out." We went to his room first and loaded up with blankets, working clothes, a shot-gun and a generous supply of fixed ammunition. On the long tramp up the mountain, Barrett, who was older in the district than either Gifford or myself, told me what we might expect.
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