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I think it was exceedingly rude of you, Myra, to snatch your hand away as you did when Don Carlos was going to kiss your fingertips." "Personally, Aunt, I think he is the most arrogant, ill-mannered and insufferably conceited man I have ever met," Myra responded warmly.
Just the fingertips lightly touching his scars had been more than enough to confirm his earlier impression. The man's every action, from coming aboard armed to allowing his alien hosts to satisfy their curiosity, showed the courage and self-assurance of one whose sense of honor was so much a part of him that he felt no need to stand on ceremony.
But after that everything will be soon when one comes to death then everything is at one's fingertips I can feel that greater world I shall never see as one feels the dawn coming through the last darkness...." The attack on the Rand Club began while Benham and White were at lunch in the dining-room at the Sherborough on the day following the burning of the STAR office.
"Aw, now, Millie Millie " Stood regarding her, chewing backward and forward along his fingertips. "You you see for yourself, Millie, what's dead can't be made alive now, can it?" She nodded, acquiescing, her lips bitterly wry. "My lawyer, Millie, he'll fix it, alimony and all, so you won't " "O God!"
"That's odd," was all she permitted herself to say, delicately flicking the crumbs from her fingertips; "because it was to prove the contrary that George called Monsieur de Bienville out." "Bienville! You've stooped to him?" "Did I say so?" Diane asked, with a sudden significant lifting of the head. "There's no need to say so. There must have been something "
"Oh, I'm all sorts of things beside " He paused for a second "Cousin Celia," he added so lightly that the grace with which he said it covered the impudence, and she laughed in semi-critical approval and turned to Ailsa, whose smile in response was chilly chillier still when Berkley did what few men have done convincingly since powdered hair and knee-breeches became unfashionable bent to salute Celia Craig's fingertips.
She sat looking at him rather helplessly, unconsciously appealing to him with her eyes to let the subject drop. If he meant to go on with it, he took his time flecking a few crumbs from his white waistcoat and from his fingertips. In the action he showed himself for what he was a man so neat as just to escape being dapper.
"Shall I remember?" he muttered. "Yes, you'll remember." "Accompany me, Krag, or I shall be lost." "There is nothing for me to do in there. I shall wait outside for you." "You are returning to the struggle?" demanded Nightspore, gnawing his fingertips. "Yes." "I dare not." The thunderous clangor of the rhythmical beats struck on his head like actual blows.
And then a polite series of bobs addressed to Stock and his orchestra. Stock's long, slim hands poised in air. His fingertips seemed to draw from the men before him the first poignant strains of Theodore's concerto. Theodore stood, slim and straight. Fanny's face, lifted toward him, was a prayerful thing.
Yet, in those breathless moments, fear was the dominant sensation. He felt a coward to his fingertips... He walked up and down the room feverishly, as a man might pace a prison in the first few moments of captivity. There was no escape! If he disappeared again, it would only rivet suspicion the more closely.
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