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Updated: May 22, 2025
"Give it up?" said Mary, with a laugh; "not quite. Kitty, for goodness' sake, don't allow Florence's words to trouble you. You have got to fight with all your might and main. You will fight honorably and so will I, and if you mean to give it up there will be the greater chance for me, but of course you won't give it up."
Even in crises of graver difficulty, where sterner assailants are to be encountered than Helen's magical smile or Florence's magnetic eyes, the invisible presence seems to inspire her lover with supernatural valiance. Remember the story of Aslauga's Knight; when once through the cloud of battle-dust gleamed the golden tresses, horse and man went down before him.
"And the roses, too all of them see, Mamma, just cut from the bushes, with the buds all left on, and immensely long stems! Mamma, these must have cost an immensity!" "That is what I call a bouquet," said Fleda, fain to leave the table, too, and draw near the tempting show in Florence's hand. "This is the handsomest you have had all winter, Florence," said Edith. "Handsomest!
Nevertheless, that very roughness of her hair gave her face a look of power, and several girls gazed at her now half fascinated. Bertha's light blue eyes flashed one glance in Florence's direction, and were then lowered. She liked best to keep her most secret thoughts to herself. Mrs. Clavering glanced round the room, and then, opening Sir John's letter, spread it out before her.
His other experiences were not more sparkling, and except for the emotions within him, he was in all the qualities of his mind as well as in his bodily contours and the apparel sheltering the latter, the most commonplace person in Florence's visible world.
But much as the Nightingales, big and little, loved Lea hall, it was very bare and cold in winter, and Florence's father determined to build a new house in a more sheltered place. Lea Hurst, as it was called, was only a mile from the hall, and, like it, overlooked the Derwent; but here the hills were wooded and kept out the bitter winds which had howled and wailed through the old house. Mr.
I love you dearly, dearly, Florence, and I think your hair is lovely." This was too much for Florence's tender heart, and she sobbed out, "It was my fault too, Dimple. I said hateful things, and I couldn't forgive myself when I thought you had gone, I didn't know where. I had no business to scare you so. Please, Aunt Flo, kiss us and forgive us, and please, for my sake, don't scold Dimple." Mrs.
You have a nice style and an original way of putting things. I accepted your story for the Argonaut; it may not appear for some months, but it will certainly be published before the end of the year. We had better now arrange terms. What do you think your manuscript worth?" "Nothing at all," was Florence's unguarded answer. This was so unexpected that both Franks and the editor smiled.
The Captain was quite disheartened for the moment, but he revived at the first touch of Florence's arm, and they returned with the same precautions as they had come; the Captain opening the door of the little Midshipman's berth, and diving in, with a suddenness which his great practice only could have taught him.
"Her rank, do you say?" she cried. "To the mischief with her rank. What's rank to love? A woman is only a woman, whether she calls herself a duchess or a dairy-maid. A woman with any spirit would marry a bank manager, if she loved him. A man's a man. You should n't care that for her rank." "That," was a snap of Mrs. O' Donovan Florence's fingers.
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