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Updated: May 5, 2025
His unworthy thoughts were, chased away at the sight of this one faithful friend remaining, and he was stooping to fondle the great creature, to pull at the long drapery of its ears and the pendulous folds of its glorious forehead, when a short, sharp cry caused him to lift his head. "Thet's 'im!" said somebody, and then he was aware that a group of men with evil faces had gathered round.
He desired to seize them by their heads, to tear them apart one from another, to thrash some, to fondle others, to reproach them all, to illumine them with a certain fire. There was nothing in him, neither the necessary words, nor the fire; all he had was the longing which was clear to him, but impossible of fulfillment.
We then wish to converse, not to fondle; to give scope to our imaginations, as well as to the sensations of our hearts. At twenty the beauty of both sexes is equal; but the libertinism of man leads him to make the distinction, and superannuated coquettes are commonly of the same opinion; for when they can no longer inspire love, they pay for the vigour and vivacity of youth.
Such are the conquerors whom the priests of Christ fondle, caress, flatter and bless! Seigneur count! Seigneur count Neroweg! Wake up!
Believing that the less she had accustomed him to external demonstrations of affection, the less also he would miss her presence and feel her loss, she had made it a rule from the time he was two years old, never to fondle or embrace him, carrying self-denial in this particular so far as to discourage even his, own childish caresses and endearments.
"Ye've no need to stan' grinnin' an' makkin' merry theer when th' poor dumb thing's goin' to dee, as like as not," cried Margaret indignantly. "Hand him over to me this minute theer, my beauty, theer missus'll see to thee." "Well, an' ye ought to be very thankful to me," asserted Ted; "didn't I pick him out o' th' road, an' put my own coat o'er him an' fondle him mich same's if he was a babby?
They stood upon the dusky landing, across which a bar of light streamed from his half-open door, and only Beethoven's eyes were upon them. But Lancelot felt no impulse to fondle her; only just to lay his hand on her hair, as in benediction and pity. "So you liked what I was playing," he said, not without a pang of personal pleasure. "Yessir; I never heard you play that before."
Arnold were moved to tears by these words; in fact, so deep and genuine was their emotion that neither one spoke for some time. They did nothing but fondle and kiss the child they had adopted. Thenceforward, instead of Mary Morton, the child was Agnes Arnold. Years went by, and on the day we first introduced her she was twenty-two years old. Her own mother and Mr.
Miss Travers went on to say that the Doctor was rude to her again; she did not know his intention; he took hold of her and tried to fondle her; but she would not have it. "After the second offence you went back?" "Yes." "Did he ever repeat it again?" "Yes." Miss Travers said that once again Dr. Wilde had been rude to her. "Yet you returned again?" "Yes."
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