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It even occurred to her to do the one thing that might have quieted her excited brain to get a book, one of those detective stories of which Bunting had a slender store in the next room, and then, lighting the gas, to sit up and read. No, Mrs.
Good sooth! to me They are all comely and fair to see They have old faces each one doth tell A tale of its own, that doth like me well Sad or merry, as it may be, From the quaint old book of my history.
He endeavored to direct my memory and my talent for apprehending and combining to objects of jurisprudence, and therefore gave me a small book by Hopp, in the shape of a catechism, and worked up according to the form and substance of the institutions.
She also bore in mind a picture in his favorite book, where a stable boy was shown giving a glossy brown cow splendid green leaves to eat. "So you still have the cabbage in your head, Mux?" said the mother. "You must not be dissatisfied when there are so many poor children who have to go hungry. While you get bread and good vegetables, they may be suffering."
The opening sentence of the prayer with which the book begins contains by actual count eighty-three words. It is probable that Baxter by his rash act did more to injure the cause of intelligent and reverential liturgical revision than any ten men have done before or since. In every discussion of the subject he is almost sure to be brought forward as "the awful example."
In short it is the way of tragedy, and for tragedy Dorothea had no aptitude at all. She did what she could tidied up. For an instance. The book was a slender one, bound in calf, gilt-edged, and stamped with a gold wreath in the centre of each cover.
"Did you ever know a publisher?" "Uncle Timothy." "Alive, I mean." "Monty knew one at his Club. He brought him here to dinner once. Monty was always thinking of writing a book, you know, about how to make money on the turf. He tried to interest that man." "Well?" "He put him on to a horse for the Two Thousand. We didn't see him again. He was rather smart, if I remember." "Did it win?"
It's as though I were tossing more balls in the air than I could possibly manage. At one moment I think it's Clare that I've got especially to hang on to another time it's the book and then it's Stephen. Fact is I'm getting battered at by something or other and I never can get my breath. I oughtn't ever to have married I'm not up to it." Norah Monogue took his hand.
They should not mind the reviewer's jeer; he doesn't remember any of the worn old things until the book which he is reviewing has retold them to him. I have made the quoted remark myself, at one time and another, but I was not doing it to flatter the reader; I was merely doing it to save work.
It's about a man whose friend is going to travel round the world, like you, and he has to be left behind, like me. Well, what does he do but make up his mind to travel round his own garden, and write a history of his adventures, just as if he had been abroad. And that's the book; and you can't tell what a jolly one it is.
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