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Updated: May 31, 2025
Little Charlot came running up and hid among her petticoats, astonished and frightened to see a strange man there. Then succeeded a few seconds of awkward silence. "And this is the little one, then?" Goliah asked at last in his most dulcet tone. "Yes," was Silvine's curt, stern answer. Silence again settled down upon the room.
They found themselves seated apart from the rest of the merry-makers, on the bank shadowed by lime-trees; the man listening with downcast eyes, the girl with mobile shifting glances now on earth, now on heaven, and talking freely; gayly, like the babble of a happy stream, with a silvery dulcet voice and a sparkle of rippling smiles.
The soul of Cynthia was like a silent cleft among the hills, which waits, in its own still content, until the horn of the shepherd winds the notes of a chord in the valley below; and then the cleft makes answer and returns an airy echo, blending the notes into a harmony of dulcet utterance.
The legend was intensely fascinating as it left his lips in the quaint broken English that is never so dulcet as when it slips from an Indian tongue. His inimitable gestures, strong, graceful, comprehensive, were like a perfectly chosen frame embracing a delicate painting, and his brooding eyes were as the light in which the picture hung.
Sometimes things just fell apart. Standing there in this back corridor that was permeated by the dulcet stench of the toilet, he spent a few moments breathing in and out as deeply as he could in his own dabbling of lay yoga. It was as though he were a vacuum cleaner in reverse regurgitating from his bag the filth of this world.
I am very much obliged," she said. "It is awfully sweet of you to incommode yourself for my sake." It was difficult to believe that the woman who had just stormed at the conductor, who had the effrontery to subject Helen to that stony scrutiny before she answered, could adopt such dulcet tones so suddenly.
He was like a creature under the sway of a spell, and apparently drawn by this dulcet lure of the enchantment of sound was the odd procession that trailed silently after him through these deep mountain fastnesses. A woman came first, arrayed in a ragged purple skirt and a yellow blouse open at the throat, displaying a slender white neck which upheld a face of pensive, inert beauty.
Rose rang the bell and ordered the luncheon. They sat down in apparent amity to partake of it. The afternoon waned and evening came, but brought no Iron King back to the hotel. "Have you any idea at what hour Mr. Rockharrt will return, dear?" inquired Mrs. Stillwater, in her most dulcet tones. "Not the slightest."
"Yes, Sir Victor," she faltered in her most dulcet and encouraging accents. "I had made up my mind not to speak of it at all," went on Sir Victor, looking embarrassed and rather at a loss for words, "until we reached England. I don't wish to be premature. I I dread a refusal so unspeakably, that I almost fear to speak at all." What was Miss Stuart to say to this?
"Thank you so much," said Sylla, in her most dulcet tones. "And now, Captain Braybrooke, I want you to do me a great favour. It's of no use denying it, but I am an arrant gambler at heart; I must and will have a gamble on this. Will you please put five pounds for me on Captain Bloxam?" and as she spoke Sylla saw with infinite satisfaction that she had Lady Mary for an auditor.
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