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Updated: June 16, 2025
He is going to get away just as soon as the down train leaves." He arrived soon afterward, having bicycled over from South Wellmouth. Primmie arrived also and bursts of her energetic conversation, punctuated by grumblings in Mr. Bloomer's bass, drifted in from the kitchen. Supper was a happy meal.
Moreover, they got out of their parents' hands; they did their preparation any time and some times anyhow. They shirked games, they were out at all hours, they ate what they should not, they smoked, they bicycled on the asphalt. Now all was over.
That night in his bedroom he practised with the help of the wash-stand and its accessories the technique of serving at Low Mass, and in his enthusiasm he bicycled over to Meade Cantorum in time to attend both the Low Mass at seven said by Mr. Dorward and the Low Mass at eight said by Mr. Ogilvie.
So now if one bicycled off it would be into the very maw of an angry bull. "You look out you don't fall, Gerda," Kay flung back at her over his shoulder. "It will be to a dreadful death, as you see. Nobody'll save you; nobody'll dare." "Feeling unsteady?" Barry's gentler voice asked her from behind. "Get off and walk it. I will too."
Sometimes in the evening after a troublesome day he felt a little tired of the difficulties; but when he bicycled down toward the town in the early morning, while the mists of night drifted across the fields and the lark sang above his head, he was always in good spirits. Then he could follow the consequences of his labor, and see the good principles victorious and the work growing.
To elude the world without eluding its ornaments what more could be prayed for by a mind desiring rest? Uppat, indeed, in June and July was like a land Where all trouble seems Dead winds, and spent waves riot In doubtful dreams of dreams. Lord Amherst, as a rule, spent most of the day fishing. Lady Amherst, I, and two other visitors very often bicycled.
It was a lovely morning, and, as I bicycled along, keeping a fatherly eye on Arthur's activities, I realized for the first time in my life the full meaning of that exquisite phrase of Coleridge: "Clothing the palpable and familiar With golden exhalations of the dawn,"
Stapleton were going to Holt by any chance, so I bicycled rather slowly for a minute or two, and looked round once or twice. I had guessed right, because all at once I saw her car going up the avenue." "Are you sure it was Mrs. Stapleton?" I asked, suddenly interested. "Oh, quite. But I don't think she saw me, her car went by so fast." "Was anybody with her?"
I shuddered with rapture, and when the two of them, my old father and she, both looking so handsome and elegant, bicycled side by side along the main road, a black horse ridden by the steward dashed aside on meeting them, and it seemed to me that it dashed aside because it too was overcome by her beauty.
Meanwhile, I read a lot and spent time with friends, some of whom also enjoyed hiking and bicycling. In the summer of 1976, when I was sixteen, I bicycled from the White Mountains of New Hampshire to Boston with people from an outing club. One morning, as I watched my traveling companions prepare their daily dose of hallucinogens, I realized that I wanted to be part of their fellowship.
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