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Updated: May 7, 2025
"Madame has request me to inform m'sieur that she knows the Count is here, and will you be so good as to call to-morrow morning." "What! She knows he's here? Who brought the information?" "The bountiful Max, m'sieur. He bring it with dejeuner, again with diner, and but now with the hot water, m'sieur." "Oh, I see," said I profoundly. "In that case, I I sha'n't disturb her.
Like a candidate for the presidency," Pinney added, with a smile. "Hello! Who's this?" A little French maid, barefooted, black-eyed, curly-headed, shyly approached Northwick, and said, "Diner, Monsieur." "That means dinner," Northwick gravely interpreted. "I will ask you to join me." "Oh, thank you, I shall be very glad," said Pinney rising with him.
Even the pictures were limited to one on each wall, as though more might distract the diner from his food. Except for a light over the lift opening there were only two electric candles with lemon shades on the table, where my brother sat, bolt upright, eating soup. "Now, you know, I laughed as I sat down, because I would not have lived in this fashion at all.
The marvel is even greater than you suppose, for behold this case also filled with necessities. Is this our train?" "Yes," and I took up the grip she designated as hers. "Let us get settled and into the diner, for I am hungry as a wolf."
Old Evelyn then narrates how he and his noble friend took the lovely diner out on a junketing, and got shot at with blunderbusses from the gondola of an infuriated rival. Opera progressed toward a fixed status with a swiftness hardly paralleled in the history of any art.
As he slid sideways across the green plastic seat, he again caught the woman's eyes. They were calm and questioning, brown with deepening centers the color of the inner heart of black walnut. He stood and nodded in the Japanese manner. No one would have noticed, unless perhaps for her friend. He buttoned his coat before pushing open the outer door of the diner.
The best-natured of the group, however, breaks the silence. He speaks to the diner on his left. "Where did you get the stone for that sarcophagus you put up yesterday?" "In Vermont." "Who ordered the job Lockwin or the widow?" "She did." "Well, it's a pretty thing. I wish I were rich. I lost a little boy too."
She rose at six and sliding uncomfortably into her clothes stumbled up to the diner for a cup of coffee. The snow had filtered into the vestibules and covered the door with a slippery coating. It was intriguing this cold, it crept in everywhere. Her breath was quite visible and she blew into the air with a naive enjoyment.
I will not forestall your judgment by saying anything more of this book, but only wish it may afford as much entertainment as it has me. This historic doubter dined with me yesterday, Williams, Lord March, Cadogan, and Fanshaw, qui m'a demande a diner, at the House.
There was a sort of register which the guests were asked to sign, and in looking it over I read the inscription of one particularly enthusiastic diner. It ran, 'Oh, Madame Begue, your liver has touched my heart, and the story is that the writer made desperate love to the proprietor's wife." "Oh, come, that's rather hard on me. I have some emotions besides a hearty appreciation of food."
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