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Updated: July 6, 2025
"She WHAT?" gasped Leslie's mother. "Turned me down cold," said Leslie briefly. Mr. Wrandall laid his book on the table without thinking to put the bookmark in place. Then he arose and removed his glasses, fumbling for the case. "She she WHAT?" he demanded. "Sacked me," replied his son. "Please do not jest with me, Leslie," said his mother, trying to smile.
The pain tightened about Jethro's heart tightened so sharply that he could not speak, and scarcely breathe because of it. Cynthia picked up her novel, and set the bookmark. "Now that Cousin Eph is provided for, let's go back to Coniston, Uncle Jethro."
When Thea Kronborg entered quietly and slipped into a seat, he nodded, finished his paragraph, inserted a bookmark, and rose to put the book back into the case. It was one out of the long row of uniform volumes on the top shelf. "Nearly every time I come in, when you're alone, you're reading one of those books," Thea remarked thoughtfully. "They must be very nice."
Certain it is that the most ardent Shakespearean must abandon the hope of securing for a bookmark to his Merry Wives of Windsor one of the leaves that rustled, while "Windsor bell struck twelve," over the head of fat Jack. He has the satisfaction, however, of looking up at the identical bell-tower of the sixteenth century, and may make tryst with his imagination to await its midnight chime.
The simple pulpit was carefully polished and a bright bookmark hung from the gilt-edged leaves of the Bible. The choir occupied a platform at the right of the minister, facing the congregation, and each member held the visitors in view as they were shown to a seat. The evening congregation was scattering, so their advent was the more noticeable.
"That's the very one!" cried Hilda. "Ah! There you are then! You see the bookmark was at that page." Hilda had not noticed the thin ribbon almost concealed in the jointure of the pages. "I wouldn't be a bit astonished if my father had lent her this very book! Curious, isn't it?" It was.
The two lads were soon in the Swift homestead, a pleasant and large old-fashioned residence, in the suburbs of Shopton. Tom brought out the books, and he and his chum poured over them. "Mr. Damon gave me that one on electricity," explained the young inventor, handing Ned a bulky volume. "'Bless my bookmark! as Mr. Damon himself would say if he were here," exclaimed Ned with a laugh.
Wrandall, picking up his book once more and turning to the place where the bookmark lay, after which he proceeded to re-read four or five pages before discovering his error. No one spoke for a matter of five minutes or more. Then Mrs.
When you look at it remember Your true friend Diana Barry. Anne read the note, kissed the bookmark, and dispatched a prompt reply back to the other side of the school. My own darling Diana: Of course I am not cross at you because you have to obey your mother. Our spirits can commune. I shall keep your lovely present forever.
Mr Morris, to pass his three hours gently and pleasantly, opened a very old copy, by Blankborough, upon logarithms; Monsieur Brohanne had armed himself with a heavy tome of La Grande Encyclopedie, with a bookmark therein at the page dealing with the ancient langue d'oc; while Mr Rampson, also linguistical, opened a sickly-looking vellum volume, horribly mildewy and stained, and made as if to read a very brown page of Greek whose characters looked like so many tiny creases and shrinkings in a piece of dry skin.
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