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Updated: June 14, 2025
But Frances Freeland, bending forward, fixed her eyes piercingly on Kirsteen's neck, as if she were noticing something there more important than that about tyranny! Then John said very gravely: "You seem to think that we approve of such things being done to the helpless!" "I know that you disapprove."
They knew their Whitman and their Dostoievsky sufficiently to be aware that they ought to love and delight in everything in the gentleman walking down Piccadilly with a flower in his buttonhole, and in the lady sewing that buttonhole in Bethnal Green; in the orator bawling himself hoarse close to the Marble Arch, the coster loading his barrow in Covent Garden; and in Uncle John Freeland rejecting petitions in Whitehall.
I have an abundance of such illustrations of the same principle, drawn from my own observation, but think the cases I have cited sufficient. The practice is a very common one. On the first of January, 1834, I left Mr. Covey, and went to live with Mr. William Freeland, who lived about three miles from St. Michael's. I soon found Mr. Freeland a very different man from Mr. Covey.
Now, wait for me, dear; I shan't be a minute. I've only to get my things. They'll all go splendidly in this little bag." In a quarter of an hour they had started. During that journey Frances Freeland betrayed no sign of tremor. She was going into action, and, therefore, had no patience with her nerves. "Are you proposing to stay, Mother?"
At those words from Felix, Frances Freeland, gazing first at him and then at Kirsteen, said in a pained voice: "I don't think you ought to talk like that, Kirsteen, dear. Nobody who's at all nice means to be unkind. We're all forgetful sometimes. I know I often forget to be sympathetic. It vexes me dreadfully!" "Mother, don't defend tyranny!" "I'm sure it's often from the best motives, dear."
Only Frances Freeland was smiling and gazing lovingly at dear Derek, thinking he would be so handsome when he had grown a nice black moustache. And she said: "Yes, dear. What were you going to say?" Derek looked up. "Do you really want it, Granny?" Nedda murmured across the table: "No, Derek." Frances Freeland raised her brows quizzically. She almost looked arch. "But of course I do, darling.
Strength of character, re-enforced by strength of muscle, thus won a victory over brute force that secured for Douglass comparative immunity from abuse during the remaining months of his year's service with Covey. The next year, 1835, Douglass was hired out to a Mr. William Freeland, who lived near St.
When, then, he had kissed Frances Freeland, and watched her ascend the stairs, breathless because she WOULD breathe through her nose to the very last step, he turned into his study, lighted his pipe, and sat down to a couple of hours of a report upon the forces of constabulary available in the various counties, in the event of any further agricultural rioting, such as had recently taken place on a mild scale in one or two districts where there was still Danish blood.
Absorbed in this reconnoitring, she failed to observe that darling Derek was looking at her through eyelashes that were always so nice and black. He said suddenly, in that faint and cheerful voice: "All right, Granny; I'm going to get up to-morrow." Frances Freeland, whose principle it was that people should always be encouraged to believe themselves better than they were, answered.
His imagination would then sometimes take fire, and he would say that such and such, or so and so, was dangerous. "I'd rather go and have a talk with Freeland," he said. "He's queer, but he's not at all a bad chap." Lady Malloring rose, and took one of his real-leather buttons in her hand. "My dear Gerald, Mr. Freeland doesn't exist."
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