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As there is always more excitement when this is done by a male, it is better to have them when one can, but, faute de mieux one can do it oneself with much additional lascivious satisfaction.

Only a very high vacuum this was the idea Rose seemed to be getting at might be expected, faute de mieux, to tolerate Bertie. So if you found him tolerated seriously in a woman's life, you couldn't resist the presumption that there was a vacuum there. "Don't ask me about him," said Frederica. "He never would have anything to do with me; said I was a classic type and they always bored him stiff.

I read in the excellent hand- book of M. Joanne that it was projected "des 1172," but commenced only in the first years of the thirteenth century. "The nave" the writer adds, "was finished tant bien que mal, faute de ressources; the facade is of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries in its lower part, and of the fourteenth in its upper."

Two deviations after that wretched prismatic compass which I obtained in the end secondhand, faute de mieux, near Victoria, at one of those showy shops which look like jewellers' and are really pawnbrokers' nearly caused me to miss my train.

I much prefer to air them by expression and complaint. About noon it strikes me that, faute de mieux, I will go and see Mrs. Huntley, tell her suddenly that Roger is not coming back, and see if she looks vexed or confused or grieved. Accordingly, soon after luncheon, I set off in the pony-carriage. It is a quiet sultry-looking unclouded day.

"Madame Gilbert thinks a lot of him, and would be pained if he suffered discredit through any fault of hers." "Fault!" shouted the gallant Froissart. "La belle Madame is sans faute, peerless, a prodigy of skill and discretion! She is superb. If she implores me to spare the man Dawson, then I will consent, though my heart is rent in fragments.

But a priest's petite faute would seem to suggest the crushing down of a universe!" "Custom and usage make the rule in these things," said Fontenelle turning away, "I have the honour to wish you good-day, Monsieur!" "One moment!" said the actor smiling, "There is a curious personal resemblance between you and me, Monsieur le Marquis! Have you ever noticed it?

I read in the excellent handbook of M. Joanne that it was projected "dès 1172," but commenced only in the first years of the thirteenth century. "The nave," the writer adds, "was finished tant bien que mal, faute de ressources; the façade is of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries in its lower part, and of the fourteenth in its upper."

"Joie est mon caractere, "Joy is my character, C'est la faute a Voltaire; 'Tis the fault of Voltaire; Misere est mon trousseau, Misery is my trousseau, C'est la faute a Rousseau." 'Tis the fault of Rousseau." Thus it went on for some time. It was a charming and terrible sight. Gavroche, though shot at, was teasing the fusillade. He had the air of being greatly diverted.

Where could you get better omelettes served by a more charming little waitress? was she really charming, I wonder, or did she merely seem so faute de mieux? Where could you find a nicer place to meet your friends from other regiments, to drink coffee, to eat quantities of dainty French cakes?