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"Do you think it is b-broken?" she asked him, dreading. He grasped it tenderly, discovered that the ankle moved freely, and after pressing it in several places, looked up at her. "I don't think it's broke, ma'am. It's a bad sprain though, I reckon. I reckon it ought to be rubbed so's to bring back the blood that couldn't get in while the boot was on."
If he, a stranger of a few years, could be moulded in the flaming furnace of its fiery life, what then must be the cast of August Naab, born on the desert, and sleeping five nights out of seven on the sands for sixty years? The desert! Hare trembled as he grasped all its meaning. Then he slowly resolved that meaning.
Mark grasped the end of the rope handed to him, and they started forward in the intense blackness, the novelty and sense of shrinking soon passing off, and the lad feeling more and more confidence in his leader. "Don't feel a bit sleepy now, do you?" asked Dummy. "Not in the least. I say, are you sure that you can go on without taking a wrong turning?" "Oh yes, I'm right enough, Master Mark."
"He is much interested in the play, too. Mr. Raymond Greene, shake hands with Mr. Merton Ware." Mr. Raymond Greene, smiling and urbane, turned around with outstretched hand, which Philip, courteous, and with all that charm of manner which was making him speedily one of the most popular young men in New York, grasped cordially. "I am very happy to meet you, Mr. Greene," he said.
Time and again, ashamed of such weakness, I cursed myself for an imaginative fool, but kept well in the middle of the road, and grasped my staff firmly, notwithstanding.
She was simply very successful, and her success was entirely personal. She hadn't been born with the silver spoon of social opportunity; she had grasped it by honest exertion. You knew her by many different signs, but chiefly, infallibly, by the appearance of her parents. It was her parents who told her story; you always saw how little her parents could have made her.
And if forgeries, who had been guilty of such a cruel and crafty artifice, and for what purpose? I had not found any satisfactory answer to these queries before Jack returned, his face kindled with excitement. He caught my hand, and grasped it heartily. "I no more believe she is dead than I am," were his first words.
"Hardiman was apparently stabbed with a rusty knife," Quarles remarked. "Stabbed! You could not stab any one with this, and certainly I have never seen it before." I did not understand why Quarles was passing this off as the real weapon. He took it up, grasped it firmly, and stabbed the air with it. "I don't know, it might " He shook his head and put the knife on the table again.
That cottage amid its green grounds bright in a patch of sunshine did not help to soften him. It stood on land reclaimed from the forest by his father's labor. It should have belonged to him, and it had passed into hands that already grasped too much. For thirty years Gower had made silent war on Donald MacRae because of a woman.
A maiden followed each youth, and the whole party were united, for each individual grasped the person in front with both hands. Singing a rhythmical dancing-tune, with the upper portion of the body bent forward, and executing dainty steps with their feet, they circled faster and faster around the furious house-keeper.
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