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But when he had finally left the hospital and gone home, he learned one circumstance which perplexed and nonplussed him. On the very day when he was brought half dead to the town, a girl whose description corresponded exactly to that of Emilie had rushed to his lodging with tear-stained face and dishevelled hair and inquiring about him from his orderly, had dashed off like mad to the hospital.
You drive through long stretches of wayside willows, and realize only now and then that these willows are thick clumps of oleanders; and through them you can catch glimpses of banana-orchards, which look like dishevelled patches of gigantic cornstalks.
Presently a curve in the road brought the house into view, and the sight of its mullioned windows and old grey stone gables brought with it a sudden remembrance of her own dishevelled condition. The disengaged hand darted up to her head to set the cap at the correct angle, and from thence continued a patting, smoothing-out excursion, productive of distinctly smartening results.
George sprang to his feet and followed his guide. He passed through a number of officers, who eyed his dishevelled appearance with curiosity, but they all made way for him, and at last he stood in the presence of the great man. Helmar waited in respectful silence until the Chief looked up.
That Southern nature, that impassioned artist is cold as a well-rope. Listen to him: the artist is a missionary. Art is a religion, which has its priests and ought to have its martyrs. Once started on that theme, Gennaro reaches the most dishevelled pathos that any German professor of philosophy ever spluttered to his audience. You admire his convictions, but he hasn't any.
Iligliuk, who came on board with one side of her hair loose, loosened the other also to-day, in consequence of her fancying Okotook worse, though it was only the annoyance of the blister that made him uneasy; for even in this sequestered corner of the globe dishevelled locks bespeak mourning.
Martine, breathless, dishevelled, laughing and sobbing alternately, tried to speak, but could only gesticulate and throw up her hands in a kind of ecstasy, but whether of despair or joy could not be guessed. Madame Patoux shook her by the arm. "Martine! speak what is it!" Martine made a violent effort. "Fabien! Fabien " she gasped, flinging herself to and fro and still sobbing and laughing.
He is the kind of man who would much prefer a little dust in his eyes. But heavens, I must pack!" She sprang to her feet and disappeared in the room beyond, from which she emerged a few minutes later with flushed cheeks and dishevelled hair. "It is positively no use, Anna," she declared, appealingly. "You must pack for me. I am sorry, but you have spoilt me.
Screams, laughter, shouting, wild dancing let the Dons come now and see what they can make of it! "Bulldogs!" sounded a voice in Olva's ear, and turning round he beheld a breathless, dishevelled Bunning. "I've been pulling wood off the palings. Ha! hoch! he! Such a rag!" and then more apprehensively, "Bulldogs! There they are, with Metcher!"
And it seems to me that already the woman with the baby is slowly raising herself, with a thousand precautions and stratagems, her head still completely covered. While farther down, that dishevelled hair. . . . Oh! I can see her well, sitting up with a sudden jerk, the ghoul with the enamel eyes, the lady Nsitanebashru! "To learn is the duty of every Moslem."
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