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What a delightful sensation must it be to all but escape the eternal downpull of gravity, to float and turn and rise and fall at will, and all by the least twitch of tail or limb, for fish have limbs, four of them, as truly as has a dog or horse, only instead of fingers or toes there are many delicate rays extending through the fin.
She whirled in the sea and rushed down upon the drifting calf, the blood from which tinged the sea for yards around its carcass. It was really pitiful to see her stop at it, and seemingly caress it, drawing it toward her with her huge fin that it might suckle. But we were alive to the chance of getting near enough to lance her, and under whispered instructions rowed in. Mr.
I felt chagrined; but my fatigue was too crushing for delay, and, stretching myself as far as that was possible upon the bench, I was received at once into a dreamless stupor. The little German gentleman was only going a little way into the suburbs after a dîner fin, and was bent on entertainment while the journey lasted.
"Wha what's that?" stammered Freckles, almost too much bewildered to speak. "I I know you are only a bullfrog, but, be jabbers, that sounded mightily like speech. Wouldn't you please to be saying it over?" The bullfrog cuddled contentedly in the ooze. Then suddenly he lifted his voice, and, as an imperative drumbeat, rolled it again: "FIN' DOUT! FIN' DOUT! FIN DOUT!" Freckles had the answer.
The fin de siècle intelligentsia of the nineteenth century were quite stirred up by a publication of Max Nordau on "Degeneration," in which a number of revered artists and intelligents were held up to public scorn as degenerates and neurasthenics. So wrought up were they, in fact, that Bernard Shaw was moved to compose a defense entitled "The Sanity of Art."
Now and then I saw the water ripple before me, and my courage almost failed me. I can but die once, I thought to myself; but still it seemed very hard to have to die just then. "I had got almost up to the vessel when I saw another thing which might well have made my heart sink: it was the black three-cornered fin of a shark appearing just above the surface.
For, by this time, so spent was he by loss of blood, that he helplessly rolled away from the wreck he had made; lay panting on his side, impotently flapped with his stumped fin, then over and over slowly revolved like a waning world; turned up the white secrets of his belly; lay like a log, and died. It was most piteous, that last expiring spout.
"Ain't done nothin'," wailed Doff. "Sam, he give me de penny an' say, 'Le's hab fun. Den Ah puts de penny in de lil' hole an' den Mammy cotch me." "Doff seems to be the victim, Lucy," Val observed. "Where's Sam?" "Ah don' know. But I'se a-goin' to fin' out!" she stated with ominous determination. "How's Ah a-goin' to git mah ironin' done when dere ain't no heat fo' de iron? Ah asks yo' dat!"
He slipped into it a cartridge carrying an explosive bullet. Trembling with eagerness, he took up his position on the bow of the speeding Bolo, anxiously scanning the waters ahead for any sign of the shark's reappearance. Suddenly an ugly black fin loomed up, cutting through the water like the conning tower of a submarine. "Crack!"
Sabin nodded. "I will take," he said, "a small glass of fin champagne." She vanished, and reappeared almost immediately with the brandy in a quaintly cut liqueur glass. A glance at the clock as she passed seemed to have increased her anxiety. "If monsieur will drink his liqueur and depart," she prayed. "Indeed, it will be for the best." Mr. Sabin set down his glass.
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