"'Well then, if ye must know, th' opera-dancers apply hot water to sprains: now what is their interest? T' expedite the cure: and the faculty apply cold water: and what is their interest? To procrastinate the cure, and make a long job of it. So just hold your toungues, and ring for hot water." Julia did not ring; she beckoned Edward, and they flew out and soon brought a foot-pan of hot water.

Katherine kept her voice steady by an effort, while her thoughts flew back to that evening when Jervis Ferrars had taken her up to Ochre Lake, and had talked to her of the struggles and hardships of his life. She had been so happy that evening, and every day since had been like a festival.

He flogged his horse unmercifully, and the sleigh flew over the ground, scattering the snow and striking every moment against some roughness of the road which it concealed.

As he walked, he sang, or rather chaunted to a monotonous strain, the following: "Way-gee-mar-kin is dead, is dead, I know who killed him. I guess it was I I guess it was I." All the village was aroused. Everybody flew in pursuit of the murderer, but he evaded them, and escaped to a place of safety.

Bellairs, Bella, and Lucia had some pretence of work in their hands; the three gentlemen lounged on the grass near them. The farmer's children, at play at the end of the house, occasionally darted out to peep at them, and flew back again the moment they were perceived.

In that time Balbalaoga was married and Aponitolau was very sorry, because he could not remarry Aponibolinayen, and he went to the balaua even though he was not invited. As soon as the balaua was over, all the people went back home, but Balbalaoga did not go back to Dona. The alan flew away after he was married. Ayo went to the spring.

The prince now flew high above him, and cried: "A message from the Remora. He says you are afraid to fight him." "Don't know him," grunted the Firedrake. "He sends you his glove," said Prince Prigio, "as a challenge to mortal combat, till death do you part." Then he dropped his own glove into the fiery lake. "Does he?" yelled the Firedrake.

A version of the Pandora legend imputes the state of mankind to the curiosity of one disastrous fool who raised the lid of the sacred box, with the result that the blessings intended for our race escaped and flew away. We have cursed the inquisitive person through the centuries. We have instinctively hated him to the point of persecution.

She sat by her window, and as her fingers flew over the typewriter keys she was swept by surges of heat in which ecstasy and shame and terror were strangely commingled. A voice within her said, "This can't go on, this can't go on! It's too terrible! Everyone in the office will notice it there will be a scandal. I ought to go away while there is yet time to-day."

"The same evening we, childless parents, were sitting silently together in the cottage; neither of us had any desire to talk, even had our tears allowed us. We sat gazing into the fire on the hearth. Presently, we heard something rustling outside the door: it flew open, and a beautiful little girl three or four years old, richly dressed, stood on the threshold smiling at us.