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Updated: June 16, 2025
'That was very well for my lord of what did'st thou call him, Ned? 'Francis Bacon, lord Verulam, returned Herbert, with a queer smile. 'Very well for my lord of Veryflam! resumed lady Margaret, with a mock, yet bewitching affectation of innocence and ignorance; 'but tell me had he? nay, I am sure he had not a wild Irishwoman sitting breaking her heart in her bower all day long for his company.
Hickathrift, my man, the doctor must be fetched. Go and send one of the men." "Nay, squire, I'll go mysen," replied the big wheelwright. "Did'st see his goon, Mester Dick?" "No, I saw no gun." "Strange pity a man can't carry a gun like a Chrishtun," said the wheelwright, "and not go shutin hissen that way."
Mark as the sun was setting; and this on thy return from the boat of Donna Violetta." There was no acting in the wonder of Annina. "Santissima Maria! You are better served, Signore, than the council thinks!" "As thou wilt find to thy cost, unless the truth be spoken. From what convent did'st thou come?" "Signore, from none.
"... For the time when thou did'st love me, I do thank thee well; And I hope that elsewhere Thou may'st better fare...." "Christophe!" said Olivier. Christophe hugged him close. "Come, old fellow," he said. "We have fared well." The four of them sat near the sleeping child. They did not speak.
SCOTT, The Reiver's Wedding. "They are gone," said Margaret of York, standing half dressed at the deep-set window of the chamber where Grisell lay in state in her big bed. "Who are gone?" asked Grisell, turning as well as she could under the great heraldically-embroidered covering. "Leonard Copeland and his father. Did'st not hear the horses' tramp in the court?"
The old woman muttered a few unintelligible words; then she collected herself, stretched out her lean neck, and asked, as she fixed her sparkling eyes on the man before her: "Did'st thou ever, when thou wert young, hear of the singer Beki? Well, look at me, I am she." She laughed loud and hoarsely, and drew her tattered robe across her bosom, as if half ashamed of her unpleasing person.
Thy gold was not thy saint nor welth Purchased by rapine worse than stealth Nor did'st thou brooding on it sit Not doing good till death with it. This many may blush at when they see What thy deeds were what theirs should be. Thou'st gone before and I wait now T'expect my when and wait my how Which if my Jesus grant like thine Who wets my grave's no friend of mine.
"And thou," she sighed, "and thou did'st leave me, Beltane! O, would thou had kissed me once again and held me in thine arms, so might we have known less of sorrow. Indeed methinks 'twas cruel to leave me so. Beltane."
Unhappy Sinclair, that was a fatal moment when thou did'st yield to the fascinations of that beautiful Josephine Franklin! It was near one o'clock, and the storm had increased to a perfect hurricane. The miserable man had eaten nothing that day; he tottered off with weakness, and was numbed with the cold. By an irresistible impulse he wandered in the direction of his former home in Broadway.
"Did'st thou hear, Carlo?" demanded the eager girl, as she drew back her head; "they proclaim, at last, money for the monster who has committed so many murders!" Jacopo laughed; but to the ears of his startled companion the sounds were unnatural. "The patricians are just, and what they do is right," he said. "They are of illustrious birth, and cannot err! They will do their duty."
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