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Updated: May 22, 2025
Where had she gone, and with whom? And why should she have left him, when she had so constantly and sincerely evinced her love for him? She could not have gone back to the squatters; for her hatred of them had been intense. He remembered what she had told him of Lem Crabbe and sprang to his feet with an oath. Hot blood rushed to his fingertips, and left them dripping with perspiration.
I could order the coffin an' the undertaker it's only a question of a few hours, anyway, an' it seems such a pity ter make another trip jest fer that!" In the bedroom the old woman stirred suddenly. Somewhere, away back behind the consciousness of things, something snapped, and sent the blood tingling from toes to fingertips.
"I couldn't seem to do it," said Bull Hunter thickly. "I couldn't noways seem to do it, Reeve. You see, I sort of like you, and I couldn't kill you, Pete." When Pete Reeve recovered from his astonishment he said, "You can do more. You can go home and tell that infernal hound of an uncle of yours that you had the life of Pete Reeve under your fingertips and that you didn't take it.
Thank you, Monsieur Duchemin and good-night." She extended her hand. He saluted it punctiliously with fingertips and lips. "If you will put out the light, mademoiselle, it may aid me to get away unseen." She nodded and offered him Thackeray's pistol. "Take this. O, I have another with me."
"The furniture of both houses wants much rubbing. Mrs. 's carpets are absurd beyond anything I have seen. I want her to turn the fenders up with the bottom to the fireplace: the carpets, when not likely to be in use, folded up and laid as a hearthrug partly under the fender." My grandfather was king in the service to his fingertips.
She had been thinking it out while she milked the cows in the stuffy little pen behind the barn. This monthly letter was the only pleasure and stimulant in her life. Existence would have been, so Sidney thought, a dreary, unbearable blank without it. She cast aside her milking-dress with a thrill of distaste that tingled to her rosy fingertips.
It was a honeymoon, too, undisturbed by the petty jars and discomforts of domestic life; she saw Alan too seldom for either ever to lose the keen sense of fresh delight in the other's presence. When she met him, she thrilled to the delicate fingertips. Herminia had planned it so of set purpose.
Further, he knew that the only wrong was in judging one Epicurean quest over that of another. It was an inconsequential thing. Gabriele smashed a corpulent ant into her second composition when neither flicking it away with her fingertips nor blowing it off her paper was successful. She was writing a second story to put her son to sleep after finding the first composition ridiculous.
It was Ch'aka who broke the stalemate when he plunged his dagger into the ground and on the next roll caught the handle in his mouth. Holding his opponent's arms in both his hands he plunged his head down and managed to find a weak spot in the other's armor: M'shika howled and pulled free and when he climbed to his feet blood was running down his arm and dripping from his fingertips.
She counted the days on her fingertips: "We may be off Bordeaux.... It's been a long time, hasn't it?" To him it had been a century of dread endured through half-awakened consciousness of the latest inferno within him. "It's been very long," he said, sighing.
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