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And a certain, unshaven, fat-faced man took pity on Foma, or, perhaps, became tired of witnessing that scene, and, waving his hands, he drawled out plaintively: "Gentlemen, drop that! It isn't good! For we are all sinners! Decidedly all, believe me!" "Well, speak on!" muttered Foma. "Say everything! I won't touch you."
"Go in to school and learn your lessons, and mind the Doctor don't cane you." "What?" cried the tall, thin fellow, flushing up, as he advanced upon me menacingly, while the bell was rapidly getting toward its last strokes, "what's that you say?" "Go in and get to your lessons, and take that fat-faced booby with you." "Well!" cried Burr, "of all!" and he looked astounded. "That's it, is it?
The thin, haggard, long-haired young man, whose sunken eyes fiercely watched the turning up of the cards, never spoke; the flabby, fat-faced, pimply player, who pricked his piece of pasteboard perseveringly, to register how often black won, and how often red, never spoke; the dirty, wrinkled old man, with the vulture eyes and the darned great-coat, who had lost his last sou, and still looked on desperately after he could play no longer, never spoke.
"Much obliged, Alex," he said. "That's all right," Alex mumbled as he struck a match. "How do you feel now, uncle?" "First rate," Uncle Mosha replied as he blew out great clouds of smoke; "although I ought to feel a whole lot worse, Alex, when I see Maxie Gershon here. Twenty-five years ago I seen him last and he looks the same fat-faced feller with the black eyes.
Sentiment! Sentiment! Oh, hullo! Evening, Miss! What can I do for you?" He said this last impudently enough, facing Janice. He was a fat-faced, smoothly-shaven young man little older than Frank Bowman, but with pouches under his eyes and the score of dissipation marked plainly in his countenance. He had unmeasured impudence and bravado in his eyes and in his smile. "I have come to speak to Mr.
He was a fat-faced, stupid-looking, flabby creature by name D. H. Dickason who did not appear capable of doing anything very daring.
A bed such as peasants sleep on; a few chairs; a dressing-table tottering against the window-breast, and modestly screened in one corner, the diminutive washing-stand still used in southern France. For Gemosac had been sacked and the furniture built up into a bonfire when Marie was a little child and the Abbe Touvent a fat-faced timorous boy at the Seminary of Saintes.
He began a slow and deadly advance, whereupon Penrod timidly offered a diversion: "Say, Rupe, I got a box of rats in our stable under a glass cover, so you can watch 'em jump around when you hammer on the box. Come on and look at 'em." "All right," said the fat-faced boy, slightly mollified. "We'll let Dan kill 'em." "No, SIR! I'm goin' to keep 'em.
"He used to catch little children and plant them in his garden, where you might see them in rows, with their heads only above ground, rolling their eyes about, and growing awfully fast. He liked greedy boys best boys that ate plum-pudding till they felt as if their belts were too tight." Here the fat-faced boy stuck both his hands inside his belt.
I recollect another queer, stupid, fat-faced individual, a country shopkeeper from Connecticut, who had come over to England solely to have an interview with the queen. He had named one of his children for her majesty, and the other for Prince Albert, and had transmitted photographs of them to the illustrious godmother, which had been acknowledged by her secretary.
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