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Updated: May 13, 2025
I considered that I belonged to it, for my father and mother were English, and though I might be called The Little Savage, and be fixed to an obscure island in the great ocean, I felt that my real home was in this great country my mother talked about so glowingly, and that my chief object ought to be to return into the hands of my grandfather the belt that had in so singular a manner come into my possession.
She had just reached the decision to question the girl when suddenly the weariness, the sadness, the pensiveness, the shadow, vanished utterly, leaving Elsie not only herself again, but even more glowingly and infectiously happy and buoyant than before. And from that moment until this morning at the breakfast-table she had remained so.
Surrounded by fruit, flowers, and dark-eyed houris, the Mohammedan but typified his idea of a higher heaven. In the Alhambra he might have closed his eyes to the outer world, and fancied that he was already in that sensuous and perpetual home which the Arabian poets so glowingly describe.
At Balmoral the following autumn, the Queen heard of the death of her most illustrious subject the Duke of Wellington, and green are those "Leaves" in the journal of her "life in the Highlands," devoted to his memory. She wrote of him as a sovereign seldom writes of a subject, glowingly, gratefully, tenderly. "One cannot think of this country, without 'the Duke, our immortal hero" she said.
Sitting by a fire kept, for economical reasons, as low as possible, with her mother's voice sounding querulously somewhere in the house, and too often a clammy fog at the window, Bertha read of Egyptian delights and wonders, set glowingly before her in Rosamund's fluent style.
ROUSSEAU has glowingly described the ceaseless inquietude by which he obtained the seductive eloquence of his style; and has said, that with whatever talent a man may be born, the art of writing is not easily obtained.
Never, indeed, have I seen the countenance of man so perfect, so glowingly yet delicately handsome, as that of Aubrey Devereux.
He did not paint an elysium, he described a haven; he did not glowingly delineate a hero of romance, he soberly portrayed that Representative of the Respectable and the Real which a woman turns to when romance begins to seem to her but delusion.
To me Tuskegee has been all in all, and I still remember with gratitude the man who, in my hearing, spoke so glowingly of the school as I weighed my cotton in the little Georgia town away back in December, 1892. As all autobiographical sketches begin, so do I begin this one. I was born in Bennettsville, S. C., in 1873.
"The gods of to-day are our young men," Cope flung out, glowingly; "the war has left them with their dreams, and they have got to find a way to make their dreams come true. And that's where the old gods will help. Those fine old men who dreamed, backed their dreams with deeds. Then for a time we were so busy making money that we forgot their dreams.
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