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If at a distance, he protests at your entrance upon his domain with a forlorn wail, or insolently stares at you from a ridge. He sits and looks or moves about dyspeptically waiting for you to go. Once I remember that we saw one sitting on his haunches a hundred and eighty yards away. Compton loosed an arrow at him, one of those whining, complaining shafts that drone through the air.
They turned to find a high-busted woman entering the room, accompanied by two young girls. As they departed a breath-like echo floated after them, "Oh, really, Mrs. Van Sittart still those corsets? I can do nothing for you, you know." Tones of shrill excuse penetrated to the lift door. At the curb below stood a dyspeptically stuffed limousine, guarded by two men in puce liveries.
Approaching the high chair in which Johnnyboy was dyspeptically reflecting, with a ponderous wink at the other guests, and a fat thumb and forefinger on Johnnyboy's table, he leaned over him, and with slow, elephantine playfulness said: "And so, my dear young friend, I understand that 'mik makes you sick mik does."
"Bird, ain't she?" said William, roused from slumber by her weird noises. Dorothy, much frightened, crawled out of her tent, where her blanket-mate still dreamed dyspeptically, and William and I made her comfortable by the camp-fire. It takes a pretty girl to look pretty half asleep in a blanket. "Are you sure you are quite well?" I asked her. To make sure, I tested her pulse.
By June he has a dozen of these empty cabins on the shelf alongside his country boots. Time was when he was lean of girth as becomes an accountant, who is hinged dyspeptically all day across his desk but by this agreeable stowage he has now grown to plumpness.
The heavy vehicle went down with a rush; Geoffrey and Mrs. Carey were not looking at the horses, the Duchess was indifferent, Sydney looked on dyspeptically, and Dacre was looking far ahead, as was his wont. Only Maggie Windsor gave a little scream and grasped the rail. "It was not so hard to drive Neddy as that four," Mrs. Carey went on.
It was all put to us tentatively, persuasively. Sometimes one had a large pink blusterous person trying to carry us off our feet by his pseudo-boyish frankness, now some dyspeptically yellow whisperer, now some earnest, specially dressed youth with an eye-glass and a buttonhole, now some homely-speaking, shrewd Manchester man or some Scotchman eager to be very clear and full.
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