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Updated: May 23, 2025
The key was in her hand. Her dark hair, like the hair of a Japanese, had come down and covered her body and her face. Leonora lifted her up she was the merest featherweight and laid her on the bed with her hair about her. She was smiling, as if she had just scored a goal in a hockey match. You understand she had not committed suicide. Her heart had just stopped.
"The cowardly, plundering villains!" muttered Scarlett, and his hands involuntarily clenched, and he felt ready to rush out and face these nocturnal marauders, but he checked the desire. "Poor mother!" he sighed; "she would not value every jewel she possesses as a featherweight against my safety. They must go, I suppose; but oh, what a delight to make the rogues disgorge!"
I'll keep him a bit longer, and put him in a handicap or two where the purse will be worth running for, and I won't have to back him; he'll get in with a featherweight, and some day may take it into his head to gallop, though he's a rank bad one." Crane did not press the point; he understood Porter's motives throughout.
"Nothing nothing," he answered hurriedly. "I've been a little worried about business lately but come," he said, rising, "let us go outside, for I see your father has got that girl with the steam-whistle voice to sing." The girl with the steam-whistle voice was Julia Featherweight, the sister of Rolleston's inamorata, and Madge stifled a laugh as she went on to the verandah with Fitzgerald.
The strongest arm is unavailing to give impetus to a featherweight; for, instead of speeding on its way and hitting its mark with effect, it will soon fall to the ground, having expended what little energy was given to it, and possessing no mass of its own to be the vehicle of momentum.
Toby stooped and swung her up to her shoulder. "You little featherweight! Daddy's only a man!" she said. "Quite true," said Jake deliberately. "The sort of man who means what he says always, and sees that he gets it." "What a frightful undertaking!" laughed Toby. "Then if you told me to go to blazes you'd see that I went?" There was a pause.
Frettlby had asked several people up from Melbourne, and though Madge would rather have been left alone, yet she could not refuse her father, and had to play hostess with a smiling brow and aching heart. Felix Rolleston, who a month since had joined the noble army of benedicts, was there with Mrs. Rolleston, NEE Miss Featherweight, who ruled him with a rod of iron.
This was a good omen, and if in subsequent letters there was no news of a sequel I was content to accept small things and to believe that grave tidings, should there be any, would come to me in due course. The gravity of what might happen to a featherweight became indeed with time and distance less appreciable, and I was not without an impression that Mrs.
The Starratts had once had just such a shining-faced body for a neighbor a woman who ran up the back stairs during the dinner hour with a bit of roasted chicken or a pan of featherweight pop-overs or a dish of crumbly cookies for the children. Mrs.
"Gad! it's getting over the garden wall in a hailstorm," said Felix, as he strolled over to the piano, for he saw that the musician was Dora Featherweight, an heiress to whom he was then paying attention, in the hope that she might be induced to take the name of Rolleston.
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