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Updated: May 7, 2025
"THEA," said Fred Ottenburg one drizzly afternoon in April, while they sat waiting for their tea at a restaurant in the Pullman Building, overlooking the lake, "what are you going to do this summer?" "I don't know. Work, I suppose." "With Bowers, you mean? Even Bowers goes fishing for a month. Chicago's no place to work, in the summer. Haven't you made any plans?" Thea shrugged her shoulders.
Wilberfloss, wriggling in his chair, intimated that he was. IT was a drizzly November evening. The streets of Cambridge were a compound of mud, mist, and melancholy. But in Psmith's rooms the fire burned brightly, the kettle droned, and all, as the proprietor had just observed, was joy, jollity, and song. Psmith, in pyjamas and a college blazer, was lying on the sofa.
Would he not be a much better man if allowed to have Hester! whereas in all probability she would fall to the lot of some quill-driver like her father a man that made a livelihood by drumming his notions into the ears of people that did not care a brass farthing about them! Thus would Vavasor's love-fits work themselves off declining from cold noon to a drizzly mephitic twilight.
And still it rained, and the newspaper vendors looked in, all drizzly and wet, and the gay feathers of New York business seemed draggled. Suddenly it might have been at two o'clock there was a stir in the office, a rattling of feet on the board floor, and a sort of general revival. "She's in sight," a clerk called out to the Duke. His Grace stretched himself and departed.
Mamma and Papa went in together a little later and stood over their boy. "Oh, the comfort of seeing him safe in his little bed to-night!" said Mrs. Gray. Roused by her voice, Archie stirred. "I dess I know where the hammer is," he said drowsily. Then his half-opened eyes closed, and he was sound asleep. IT was a drizzly day in the old market-town of Banbury.
All shores seem to be straight lines, then, and mighty dim ones, too; and you'd RUN them for straight lines only you know better. Then there's your gray mist. You take a night when there's one of these grisly, drizzly, gray mists, and then there isn't any particular shape to a shore. A gray mist would tangle the head of the oldest man that ever lived.
And here, for the present, we take our leave of Tom, to pursue the fortunes of other characters in our story. In Which Property Gets into an Improper State of Mind It was late in a drizzly afternoon that a traveler alighted at the door of a small country hotel, in the village of N , in Kentucky.
A gloomy drizzly day was settling into a dark rainy night, when two young men, who, either for business or pleasure, had rowed across the river some miles from Woodford Landing, started to return home. They had stepped into their boat and were about pushing off when among some driftwood which lay not far from the shore, they thought they descried a female’s garment floating on the water.
It was on this occasion that the Fifteenth Corps gained its peculiar badge: as the men were trudging along the deeply-cut, muddy road, of a cold, drizzly day, one of our Western soldiers left his ranks and joined a party of the Twelfth Corps at their camp-fire. They got into conversation, the Twelfth-Corps men asking what troops we were, etc., etc.
It was on this occasion that the Fifteenth Corps gained its peculiar badge: as the men were trudging along the deeply-cut, muddy road, of a cold, drizzly day, one of our Western soldiers left his ranks and joined a party of the Twelfth Corps at their camp-fire. They got into conversation, the Twelfth-Corps men asking what troops we were, etc., etc.
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