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As soon as he appeared, Claire saluted him with one of those graceful, yet highly dignified bows, which distinguished the Marchioness d'Arlange. "Sir ," she began. "You come, do you not, my poor child, to obtain news of the unhappy boy?" asked M. de Commarin. He interrupted Claire, and went straight to the point, in order to get the disagreeable business more quickly over.
To suffer, to struggle, to wait, to hope always, to devote oneself entirely to another; that is my idea of love." "It is thus I love," said Claire with simplicity. This answer crushed the magistrate. He could understand it. He knew that for him there was no hope; but he felt a terrible enjoyment in torturing himself, and proving his misfortune by intense suffering.
No wonder that she was startled, even frightened. "Oh, Edward, dear Edward! what ails you?" were her eager, agitated words, so soon as she could speak. "What has happened? Oh, tell me, my husband, my dear husband!" But Claire answered not, though he was gaining some control over his feelings. "Oh, Edward! won't you speak to me? Won't you tell me all your troubles, all your heart?
A memorial hospital! Did not Corkey speak of that? The David Lockwin Annex! This is awful! Lockwin has not read a word of it. Ay, but the apartments are still at Gramercy Square. Why did he come? What fate led him away? What devil has lured him back? Hold! Hold! There is Esther! Lift her veil! Give her air! Esther, the beautiful! The reporter for the Eau Claire paper groans with the people.
A word from your lips will decide my future happiness or misery. Claire, mademoiselle, do not spurn me: I love you!" While the magistrate was speaking, Mademoiselle d'Arlange looked at him as though doubtful of the evidence of her senses; but at the words, "I love you!" pronounced with the trembling accents of the most devoted passion, she disengaged her hand sharply, and uttered a stifled cry.
She motioned her to a chair, and pushed the bolt in the door, thus rendering intrusion impossible. "What can you be thinking of, Madeline, with that gloomy face?" exclaimed Claire, nestling into an easy chair as she spoke. "I am thinking, Claire," replied Madeline, gazing down at her sadly, "of the first time I ever saw your sister, and of the errand on which she came to me.
There was a certain softness of accent and a familiar tone in his speech. As he turned toward the other two, even in the dim light, the outline of his form and the set of his uncovered head I knew. "That's Le Claire, as true as heaven, all but the voice," I said to myself. "But I'll never believe that metallic ring is the priest's.
The facts of this meeting early in the year, and that Mary and Shelley contemplated another of their restless journeys abroad, certainly take off from the abruptness of their departure for Geneva in May with Claire Claremout. Undoubtedly Shelley was in a worried and excited state at this period, and he acted so as to rouse the doubts of Peacock as to the reason of the hurried journey.
Yes, I am a beast, if by that you you mean a physical being; and if humanity ever does get anywhere in quest for a soul I suspect it will have to start from that very admission." "Of course" Philip hesitated a little "we are animals in that sense. But who can think of us as nothing more? Take Claire, for example. We both know her better than any one else.
Beach gave Claire and Milt lunch, with thin toast and thin china, on a porch from which an arroyo dropped down for a hundred feet. Fir trees scented the air, and a talking machine played the same Russian music that was popular that same moment in New York. And the Beaches knew people who knew Claire. Claire was thinking.
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