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Garnham, whose eyes were watering with emotion, attempted to explain, but, becoming hysterical, thrust a huge red handkerchief to his mouth and was led away by a friend. Mr. Quince regarded his departure with mild disdain. "Little things please little minds," he remarked. "So they do," said Mr. Hogg. "I never thought What's the matter with you, George Askew?" Mr.
Still, Garnham's translation has high merits, and I am not dreaming of leaving it out of my book. Translated by L. W. Garnham, B.A. I do not know what it signifies. That I am so sorrowful? A fable of old Times so terrifies, Leaves my heart so thoughtful. The air is cool and it darkens, And calmly flows the Rhine; The summit of the mountain hearkens In evening sunshine line.
"I I'm glad I came to you," said the farmer, at last. "You're welcome," said the shoemaker, loftily. "I'm always ready to give advice to them as require it." "And good advice it is," said the smiling Mr. Hogg. "Why don't you behave yourself, Joe Garnham?" he demanded, turning fiercely on a listener. Mr.
Even Garnham has a rival. Mr. X had a small pamphlet with him which he had bought while on a visit to Munich. Here are a few extracts: "It is not permitted to make use of the work in question to a publication of the same contents as well as to the pirated edition of it." "An evening landscape. In the foreground near a pond and a group of white beeches is leading a footpath animated by travelers."
"They are as fond of each other as they can be," said Mrs. Quince, "though I don't suppose Farmer Rose'll care for it; not but what our Ned's as good as he is." "Is Ned up there now?" demanded the shoemaker, turning pale, as the mirthful face of Mr. Garnham suddenly occurred to him. "Sure to be," tittered his wife.
"It is indeed," said Sowerby, gloomily, pressing the bell-button at the side of Henry Leroux's door. The door was opened by Garnham; and these two, fresh from the noise and bustle of London's streets, stepped into the hushed atmosphere of the flat where already a Visitant, unseen but potent, was arrived, and now was beckoning, shadowlike, to Mira Leroux.
"They are as fond of each other as they can be," said Mrs. Quince, "though I don't suppose Farmer Rose'll care for it; not but what our Ned's as good as he is." "Is Ned up there now?" demanded the shoemaker, turning pale, as the mirthful face of Mr. Garnham suddenly occurred to him. "Sure to be," tittered his wife.
Still, Garnham's translation has high merits, and I am not dreaming of leaving it out of my book. Translated by L. W. Garnham, B.A. I do not know what it signifies. That I am so sorrowful? A fable of old Times so terrifies, Leaves my heart so thoughtful. The air is cool and it darkens, And calmly flows the Rhine; The summit of the mountain hearkens In evening sunshine line.
The long building above the Orphan-house, of which only a part of the front is seen, is built of brick, and belongs to Garnham Blaxcell, Esq. whose zeal for the colony, and whose industry, have equally entitled him to the esteem and praise of all. The house a little to the right of the Orphan-house, and appearing to have a wing, is the Dwelling, and, attached to it, are the Warehouses of Mr.
Hermann had heard a great deal about the beautiful Lore, and had finally fallen very deeply in love with her without having seen her. So he used to wander to the neighborhood of the Lei, evenings, with his Zither and "Express his Longing in low Singing," as Garnham says.
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