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Updated: June 27, 2025
She set her elbow on the chair's edge and rested her cheek in her hollowed hand. Her gaze had become remote once more. "I didn't know you took him so seriously," he said in a low voice. "I'm sorry, Geraldine." All her composure had returned. She lifted her eyes insolently. "Sorry for what?" "For speaking as I did." "Oh, I don't mind. I thought you might be sorry for yourself." "Myself?"
And at night, about an hour before bedtime, she would sit down in the black-upholstered rocker almost behind the big base burner her first quiet moment in all the long day head resting against the chair's high back and doze and listen to the fitful conversation in the room, or to someone reading giving everything, demanding nothing as had been her wont all the long years!
Kate was on her chair's edge with interest as she heard the rustle of skirts and the murmur of a pleasant voice, and when Viola, flushed, smiling, beautifully gowned, entered the room with outstretched hand, she rose with a spring, carried out of her well-planned reserve by the warmth and charm of the girl's greeting. She closed her gloved palm cordially on the fine hand so confidingly given.
The light skirmisher made a desperate effort to retrieve himself: "Then a few more books like his would restore the age of faith." A number of the Easy Chair's friends were sitting round the fire in the library of a country-house. The room was large and full of a soft, flattering light.
"No," he said at last, taking down his arms and leaning back into the chair's capacious embrace, "I don't think we'd better take that extreme measure; at least, not yet. In my judgment you've acted prudently, my dear, in not letting anybody know his absence is other than an ordinary business matter. It is now about two weeks since he went away?" "Two weeks and a half."
After a while, a comfortable, dumpling little figure in a loose wrapper, popping out of some great chair's depths by the fire and stirring some posset on the hearth: smelling at a medicine-bottle: coming to the bed-side, putting a fat hand on one's forehead: a start, a nervous kiss, a shaky little laugh or two, as she fumbles about, saying, "Hush-h!" and a sudden disappearing behind the curtains.
"I suppose so," said Winn, guardedly. "I love every bit of you I love the ground your chair's on but I'm not going to give in." "And that's the way I love you," she said. "I'd go with you to the world's end, Winn, if I didn't love you so much and you'd take me there; but you won't, for just the same reason. We can't do what would be unfair; we shouldn't like it.
I thank you for being so gracious to me, who have seen so little, and cannot tell the poor, quiet things I have seen." And being led into the loving boldness by her gratitude, she bent forward and touched with her lips the fair hand resting on the chair's arm. Mistress Clorinda fixed her fine eyes upon her in a new way. "I' faith, it doth not seem fair, Anne," she said.
She told me to LOOK at her to LOOK at her mouth and chin and eyelashes and to make note of what she stood for in a crowd of ordinary people. I could have laughed aloud with rage and self-mockery." Mr. Penzance was resting his forehead on his hand, his elbow on his chair's arm. "This is profound unhappiness," he said. "It is profound unhappiness." Mount Dunstan answered by a brusque gesture.
If it's a pint of vhisky, vhy, all right; but if it's honly a pint of beer vhen there's seven hon'able ladies an' gents " "I bigs the Chair's pardon," interrupted Mr. O'Fake, "but the Chair labors under a slight misaper ahem!" Mr. O'Fake finished the word with a cough. It was a cough which he always kept ready for use in that way whenever needed. "The gintleman manes he objects to the persadin's."
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