Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 20, 2025
The golden glory was fading; the last creak of Miss Barry's wheels was getting out of hearing; the air was perfumed with the scents which the dew called forth. "Isn't it delicious?" said the minister, leaning on the little gate, and pushing his hair back from his forehead. "The stillness is pleasant," said Diana. "Yet you must have enough of that?" "Yes sometimes," said the girl.
She set about patiently bringing things to order. First made the bed, which it took all her strength to do: for the coverlets were of a very heavy and coarse manufacture of cotton and woollen mixed, blue and white; and then gradually found a way to bestow the various articles in Barry's apartment, so that things looked neat and comfortable.
With that the topic of feminism was on the carpet and it was never thereafter abandoned. "Utopia to Brass Tacks," was the slogan Barry's chief had provided him with, he said. We were about the end of the heroic age of the movement, the age of myths and saints and prophecies. A transition was about due to smaller, more immediate things. The quality of the leaders would probably change.
Then she turned to the N. C. O. "Yes, sergeant, that will do," as the man brought half a dozen large biscuit cans and as many large bottles of prepared coffee. As Barry's eyes fell upon the biscuit cans an idea came to him. "Will these cans hold water?" he inquired. "Yes, sir," replied the sergeant. "Then, we're fixed," cried Barry, in high delight. "This is perfectly fine."
He is a perfect wizard," suggested Barry, indicating a young lieutenant who had come to the battalion with the recent draft, and who had done some accompaniments for Barry's violin playing. Lieutenant Coleman, on being called for, went to the piano, and began to play.
And yet I oughtn't to let it pass: at any rate I'll sleep on it." And so he did; but it was not for a long time, for the recollection of Barry's hideous proposal kept him awake. Barry lay sprawling among the chairs till the sound of the hall door closing told him that his guest had gone, when he slowly picked himself up, and sat down upon the sofa.
Among the many lovers who flocked to the country shrine of the widowed "Queen," was Louis, Duc de Cossé, son of the Maréchal de Brissac, who, although Madame du Barry's senior by nine years, was still in the prime of his manhood handsome as an Apollo and a model of the courtly graces which distinguished the old noblesse in the day of its greatest pride, which was then so near its tragic downfall.
The farmer stood with his broad-brimmed straw hat pushed far back on his head looking up and down the ravine, a perfect target, and Barry's hand slipped automatically over his rifle. His fingers refused to close upon it. "I can't do it, Satan," he whispered. "We got to take our chances of gettin' by, that's all. He couldn't have no hand with Grey Molly."
Barry's son had gone to foreign parts, enlisted in the Prussian service, and had been shot there as a deserter. I don't care to own that I hired a stout nag from the landlord's stable after dinner, and rode back at nightfall twenty miles to my old home. My heart beat to see it.
Perhaps it was Jack Barry's own fault that he had spent three weeks loafing about Batavia without a job.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking