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They walked home slowly together across the park, and, when Vera came down to luncheon, a white gardenia had somehow or other found its way to the bosom of her dress. That was Denis Wilde's reward. Youth is a blunder; manhood a struggle; old age a regret. B. Disraeli, "Coningsby."
"I suppose you are right," answered Denis, reluctantly; "but I vote, before we start, that we take another slice of venison. I have scarcely had enough, and it may be a long time before we get any food in these wild regions. It is always better to eat when we can, in case we should have nothing to put into our mouths later. You will see that Gozo follows my principle."
"You see," said Denis, "I doubt about Peter or the baby benefiting by anything we give them. It will all go down the drain where Hilary Margerison's money flows away. Give it to Peter or give it to his relations, it'll come to the same thing. Peter gives them every penny he gets, I don't doubt.
She had seen and recognised it at last. Here it was, the miracle: the great victory that had been promised though not with clang of swords and triumph of rescuing knights, and "St. Denis for France!" but by the sole hand of God, a victory and triumph for all time, for her country a crown of glory and ineffable shame.
All the ideas of the present and of the past, on every possible subject, bob up among the Tales, smile gravely or grimace a caricature of themselves, then disappear to make place for something new. The verbal surface of his writing is rich and fantastically diversified. The wit is incessant. The..." "But couldn't you give us a specimen," Denis broke in "a concrete example?" "Alas!" Mr.
I have thrown the old traditions and superstitions to the winds. I am a free man," said Desmond. "Do you wear a hat in the street?" Denis asked laughingly; "and a coat; or have you descended to the habits of your ancestors and eschewed clothes on a hot day?" "No, my good man, and for an excellent reason. I have no desire to run counter to the law," replied Desmond.
Denis was as richly covered with cloth of camelot and of silk like as were all the cloth had for nothing or that we were in Alexandria or Damascus." A curious incident is related by the chronicler of St. Denis; Charles, desirous of being present incognito at the wondrous scene, bade Savoisy take horse and let him ride behind en croupe.
Denis, enthroned in 1108, was the pioneer of the great French Monarchy, ever on the move, hewing his way, sword in hand, through his domains, subduing the violence, and burning and razing the castles of his insolent and disobedient vassals. The famous Suger, abbot of St. Denis, was his wise and firm counsellor, who led the Church to make common cause with him and lend her diocesan militia.
The Captain retreated, half-stunned, and not very well pleased with the salute he had received; and Denis was so shocked at what he had done, that he forgot his wife and, apparently even the pigs and the money in his regrets and apologies. "Egad, Captain," said Father John, "that's more of a kiss than I meant to get you; why, you're as awkward, McGovery, as a bullcalf.
Come in now, dear; this is the last night you're to be wid us, an' they're all missin! you in the house." On that night no person slept in Denis O'Shaughnessy's, except our hero, and his mother and sisters. As morning approached a heaviness of spirits prevailed among the family, which of course was not felt by any except his immediate relations.
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