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Updated: May 22, 2025
Meanwhile Madame Ysabeau, slipping under the cloister gate, entered her Church. The pilgrims had driven her away, for she loved peace and solitude. The bird came forward cautiously, putting one foot slowly in front of the other, then stopped and craned her neck, casting a suspicious look to right and left.
Well, this time at least, old Martin would not be there to dispute the honour.... Now he could hear the gate of his little garden swing open and then bang; the lads were starting. Bob, leaning on his elbow, craned his neck forward to see them.
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.
But they don't make me disagreeable to everybody." Mr. Spinks craned forward as far as the height of his collar permitted him. "I wouldn't be too cock-sure if I were you, Mr. Soper." The young end of the table heaved and quivered with primeval mirth. Even Flossie Walker was moved to a faint smile. For Mr.
They, too, as though by instinct, followed the footprints. As the marks swung out to pass the jutting cliff the lead-dog followed their course; Nick, on the right of them, moved wide, and craned to obtain a first view of the hut. Suddenly he gave a great shout.
His glance passed so rapidly and unintelligently from one face to another that he could not have had time to form a conception of the persons present, until his swift eyes encountered the face of the warden, Instantly they flashed; he craned his neck forward; his lips opened and became blue; the wrinkles deepened about his mouth and eyes; his form grew rigid, and his breathing stopped.
She went up-stairs with her daughter, sent the maid away, and herself began to undo the soft, pink silk. "It needs an extra hook," she murmured. "I told her it did." Mathilde craned her neck over her shoulder, as if she had ever been able to see the middle of her back. "But it doesn't show, does it?" she asked. "It perfectly well might."
She craned out to see what he would do when he reached the corner, and watched as he made a careful survey, and then dropped into the lane at the back. She listened with all her ears, but there was no sound of pursuit or struggle. It had been as she hoped. No one had thought of that possible way of escape.
Half dead with devout awe, I went up to him and, remembering the ceremonial mother had impressed upon me, I scraped my foot before him, made a very low bow, and craned forward to kiss his hand; but the gentleman did not allow me to kiss his hand: he informed me that he was not my uncle, but my uncle's footman, Pyotr.
His glance passed so rapidly and unintelligently from one face to another that he could not have had time to form a conception of the persons present, until his swift eyes encountered the face of the warden. Instantly they flashed; he craned his neck forward; his lips opened and became blue; the wrinkles deepened about his mouth and eyes; his form grew rigid, and his breathing stopped.
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