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Because an imitation that no one can distinguish from the original is naturally as good as the original. You take me? There's certainly a tremendous chance for a man who could seize it, and that's why I'm inclined to accept your advice and sell my one remaining Farll." He smiled more and more confidentially. His gaze was charged with a secret meaning.

"No need for an empty stomach to have the nightmare!" "Have nothing! Of course one always has something! And Pelle" she leaned confidentially over him with a smirk on her face "now Mary will soon come home, perhaps no later than this summer. She has earned so much over there that she can live on it, and she'll still be in the prime of her youth. What do you think of that?

The discipline of his household like the discipline under which he held himself was unrelaxed. "What wine is this?" he asked when he had tasted the port. "Yellow seal, sir," replied the butler confidentially. Sir John sipped again. "It is a new bin," he said. "Yes, sir. First bottle of the lower bin, sir." Sir John nodded with an air of self-satisfaction.

The three smiles that met her gaze were not so unconcerned as their wearers fondly hoped. Mrs. Bond ended a tense moment when she exclaimed, "There's Sammy now!" and indicated to the others the last row of seats, where a girl in blue, with a blue parasol, was sitting alone. Mrs. Pidgeon delivered a parting shot. "Sammy might do lots worse than Anthony Gayley," said she, confidentially.

Then, lowering his voice, he told the /attache/ of his interview with Cardinal Boccanera, of his conviction that the latter would not help him, of the unfavourable information which had been given by Cardinal Sanguinetti, and of the rivalry which he had divined between the two prelates. Narcisse listened, smiling, and in his turn began to gossip confidentially.

"He's a very good king," said Stedman, confidentially; "and though you mightn't think it to look at him, he's a terrible stickler for etiquette and form. After supper he'll give you an audience; and if you have any tobacco, you had better give him some as a present, and you'd better say it's from the President: he doesn't like to take presents from common people, he's so proud.

And more than one looked thoughtfully his way while the maitre d'hotel hovered above them, murmuring confidentially. Four nods sealed an understanding with him. He strutted off with far more manner than had been his at any time since the arrival of Lanyard, and vented an excess of spirits by berating bitterly an unhappy clown of a waiter for some trivial fault.

His quick eye saw the two ladies, and he raised his broad-brimmed hat like a Stuart cavalier, and smiled. "Waiting for your champion, eh?" he asked with cynical friendliness. "Well, work hard, because that will soften his fall." He leaned over, as it were confidentially, to them, while his friends craned their necks to hear what he said: "If I were you I'd prepare him.

"Lord, didn't you hate French?" he asked confidentially. "Oh, HATE it!" Susan had never had a French lesson. There was a short pause a longer pause. Suddenly both spoke. "I beg your pardon ?" "No, you. You were first." "Oh, no, you. What were you going to say?" "I wasn't going to say anything. I was just going to say I was going to ask how that pretty, motherly aunt of yours is, Mrs. Baxter?"

"Yes, my dear abbe," retorted Caesar, "and I even believe that you added confidentially that sometimes the Pope in the Vatican gardens, imitating Francis I after the battle of Pavia, is wont to say sadly to the Secretary of State: 'All is lost, save faith and... good cooking." "What a bufone! What a bufone!" exclaimed Preciozi, with his mouth full.

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