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Updated: May 5, 2025
"Wait," I cried, too full of awe to know what I said. "Wait, wait, Yen Sin. I'll fetch 'im." It was dark outside, the sky overcast, and the wind beginning to moan a high note across the roofs as it swept in from the moors and out again over the graying waters. In the shore street my eyes chanced upon the light of Center Church, and I remembered that it was meeting-night.
Her fears rose towering and immense again; in the silence of the graying morning she shivered, drawing her cold feet up into the cot to listen and wait. Walker and Bentley had gone quietly to bed, and in the stillness around her there was an invitation to sleep. But for her there was no sleep in all that night's allotment. The roof of the tent toward the east grew transparent against the sky.
So that this gift, by the king's great generosity, by the great value of the materials, and the variety of its exquisite structure, and the artificer's skill in imitating nature with graying tools, was at length brought to perfection, while the king was very desirous, that though in largeness it were not to be different from that which was already dedicated to God, yet that in exquisite workmanship, and the novelty of the contrivances, and in the splendor of its construction, it should far exceed it, and be more illustrious than that was.
Oliver's mother took another tea biscuit. "Never too old for a valentine," she said, seeming to note the absence of a female presence in the apartment. "Yes . . . No . . ." Paul answered them both. He was medium sized, sinewy, and graying surprisingly light on his feet for someone who installed slabs of ornamental marble. "It's so nice to see Verdi again. Kitty, kitty," she called.
The road was empty now, lay narrow and bare down the hill; the moon had set, and the snow-clouds were graying heavily the pale light above. Only the sharp call of a discordant trumpet broke the solitude and dumbness of the hills. A lonesome, foreboding night.
Uncle Dick seemed to have been on the watch for them, he came out so promptly. Although his hair was graying, especially about the temples, Mr. Richard Gordon was by no means an old looking man. He lived much out of doors and spent such physical energy only as his out-of-door life yielded, instead of living on his reserve strength as so many office-confined men do.
A bit of a philosopher, as philosophy comes to one in a sun-cleaned and unpolluted air, A good-humored brother of humanity, even when he put manacles on other men's wrists; graying a little over the temples and a lover of life. Above all else he was that. A lover of life. A worshiper at the shrine of God's Country.
Who would want him anything but slender? even spare, if need be." As they sat there together, she plying him with questions and he, restored to good humor, replying or parrying with an unembarrassed exuberance, a man who stood just within the curtained doorway and flicked a small graying moustache with the point of his forefinger took in the scene with a studious regard.
Chip off the old block, that boy." So he had the men, too! It was in this frame of mind that Miss Ethel Morrissey found her on the morning that she came into New York on her semi-annual buying-trip. Ethel Morrissey, plump, matronly-looking, quiet, with her hair fast graying at the sides, had nothing of the skittish Middle Western buyer about her.
Banneker? No. Why should I?" "You published some of my things in the Sunday edition, lately. From Manzanita, California." "No. I don't think so. Mr. Homans." A graying man with the gait of a marionnette and the precise expression of a rocking-horse, who had just entered, crossed over. "Have we sent out any checks to a Mr. Banneker recently, in California?"
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