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Updated: May 21, 2025
"Beauties!" exclaimed Xavier, "La Nouvelle Orleans it is the home of beauty, Michie. They promenade themselves on the levee, they look down from ze gallerie, mais " "But what, Xavier?" "But, mon Dieu, Michie, they are vair' difficile. They are not like Englis' beauties, there is the father and the mother, and the convent." And Xavier, who had a wen under his eye, laid his finger on it.
I then remember I have some food in my pocket. It is difficile to get at it, but I succeed. I eat it, it is very good. Then I find I have my knife in my pocket. I call again and again. I think I hear a reply; but it is only the birds, the whisky jacks. They fly across my vision at the top; they look at me, they scream, they mock me. Never mind, I have my knife; so I will hope to cut my way out.
"Permettez," said Monsieur, looking at the card. "Ah, c'est impossible, ma chere," continued he, laughing. "Madame Turnbull se trompait; elle voudrait dire Beignets de pommes." "Vous trouvez notre langue fort difficile, n'est-ce pas?" continued madame, who recovered her good humour, and smiled graciously at Mrs T.
"Since your mother is an Englishwoman, why do you not speak English with more facility?" "Maman est morte, il y a dix ans." "And you do homage to her memory by forgetting her language. Have the goodness to put French out of your mind so long as I converse with you keep to English." "C'est si difficile, monsieur, quand on n'en a plus l'habitude." "You had the habitude formerly, I suppose?
Wilkes talked of the contested passage in Horace's Art of Poetry , 'Difficile est propriè communia dicere. Mr.
"Indeed, but I am, my dear," replied O'Brien: "and so is this lad with me: and the favour which your sister requires is, that you help us over the water, for which service there are one hundred louis ready to be paid upon delivery of us." "Oh, mon Dieu! mais c'est impossible." "Impossible!" replied O'Brien; "was that the answer I gave your sister in her trouble?" "Au moins c'est fort difficile."
After a moment she added, with a touch of irritation: "He's evidently very difficile for an unknown man." "No, it isn't that at all. If you ever know him well, you will understand." "What?" she asked with petulance. "That his reserve is a right instinct, nothing more. Between ourselves," he bent toward her, "I made a little mistake in asking Mrs. Shiffney, delightful though she is."
I suggested there was nothing more likely, as he must have some amusement. The foreman said it was odd, but there was less of that sort of thing than formerly. "C'est difficile," he added, "
What's here? for fitting the Motto of Risum teneatis Amici to a dozen Pamphlets at Sixpence per each, Six Shillings For Omnia vincit Amor, & nos cedamus Amori, Sixpence For Difficile est Satyram non scribere, Sixpence Hum! hum! hum! Sum total, for Thirty-six Latin Motto's, Eighteen Shillings; ditto English, One Shilling and Nine- pence; ditto Greek, Four, Four Shillings.
Then "it's glorious, isn't it?" he asks quietly. I say "Glorious indeed." He resumes his walk with a sigh, and I accompany him. "Ce n'est pas difficile a peindre, un coucher du soleil, it's not hard," he remarks gently. "No?" I say with deference. "Not hard a bit," the Count says, beginning to use his hands. "You only need three colours, you know. Very simple." "Which colours are they?"
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