Once he rolled ten feet into a mass of thorn scrub, but he was up again in an instant, hurdling the brush and fallen logs, his eye on the pig. It was screamingly funny and I was helpless with laughter. "Go it, Smith," I yelled. "Run him down. Catch him in your hands." He had no breath to waste in a reply, for just then he leaped a fallen log and I saw the sow charge him viciously.
"Speaking for myself," he said, looking straight at the major, "I'm not afraid of anything that walks. And that includes you, Major Connel. No offense meant, it's just a statement of fact." He paused and drew a deep breath. Then he added, "But I am afraid of this ship." "Why?" demanded Connel, who could not help admiring the man for his straightforward approach.
But it just takes my breath away to think of what Sobrante will be, some time, if that 'find' in the canyon turns out what we imagine. Why but there! No use talking. Wait and see. How long you think before you get an answer back from the town, tellin' what your friend'll do?" "Oh! I expect Marty will bring that answer. He's to wait an hour or two, you know, and give a chance.
I'd rather be the steam rising from the manure than be a thing called beautiful! It is you puts out the breath of life. Image of beauty You fill the place should be a gate. My darling! Never was loving strong as my loving of you! Do you know that? Oh, know that! Know it now! It is you. What are you doing? You are too much! You are not enough.
One very widely accepted solution of early man in the Celtic world was, that within him there was another self which could live a life of its own apart from the body, and which survived even death, burial, and burning. Sometimes this inner self was associated with the breath, whence, for example, the Latin 'anima' and the Welsh 'enaid, both meaning the soul, from the root an-, to breathe.
'Jesus...Jesus! he groaned, tearing himself from her and stopping his ears. 'Will you sell the land? she cried, with her face close to his. He shook his head. 'Not if you have to draw your last breath lying on filthy litter? 'Not though I had to draw...so help me God!
He had been so close to all of them, loyal to his heart's core, brave as a lion, ready to stand by them to his last breath. He had been beside them in many a tight scrape and had always held up his end. It seemed as though part of themselves had been torn from them. Still, while there was life there was hope, and they drew some comfort from the fact that he had not yet been found among the dead.
She did not finish, for by this time she was bending down and punching under the bed with the broom, and so she needed breath to punctuate the punches with. She resurrected nothing but the cat. "I never did see the beat of that boy!" She went to the open door and stood in it and looked out among the tomato vines and "jimpson" weeds that constituted the garden. No Tom.
"Eugene," said she, almost gasping for breath, "I bear my mother's name; but I am the daughter of your bitterest enemy, Louvois." Eugene started back in horror. "Louvois! Louvois!" echoed he, mournfully. "And Barbesieur, her brother!" "Not my own brother," cried Laura, terrified at the effect of her revelation.
"Cousin Katherine, dear Cousin Katherine," she called very gently, under her breath, and then waited almost awestricken, sensible, to the point of distress, alike of the profound quiet, which it seemed as an act of profanity to have even assayed to break, and of the malign activity of those little, scriptural figures anticking so wildly in the chimney-space and on the hearth.