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Think of the millions of dead hands that fashioned such enormous strength and old-time magnificence! On the corner of the Tartar Wall is the old Jesuit Observatory with beautiful dragon-adorned instruments of bronze given by a Louis of France. There are temples with yellow-gowned or grey-gowned priests in their hundreds founded in the times of Kublai Khan.
Lady Constance had exhausted every means of procuring the desired information concerning the strange beauty in her kinsman's castle; and she became fretted and annoyed and was about to give up all hope, when she came suddenly upon the object of her search in the corridor; and the beauteous maid, grey-gowned and sandal-shoon, flitted by without deigning so much as a look.
Other things of interest that the camera of our eyes snapped as we hurried along, were yellow-slippered, bare-legged, swarthy Arabs gliding quietly by; a neat grey-gowned nurse taking two pretty English children to early service; Spaniards in long black cloaks and felt hats drawn down, who looked exactly like the conspirators we see in a play; many sailors in the garb of various nations, who appeared to be enjoying a holiday ashore; Hebrew residents in peculiar looking coarse costumes; well dressed English people with prayer books on their way to church; Moors from Tangiers in snow-white turbans, and black-haired Spanish señoritas with large pompadours, high combs, and mantillas draped gracefully over their heads.
"Taisez-vous, taisez-vous, Jair-trude," rebuked Mademoiselle. "How dare she?" thought Miriam, with a picture before her eyes of the little grey-gowned thing with the wistful, frugal mouth and nose. "Na Miss Henderson?" It was Fraulein's voice from within the little room. Minna was holding the door open.
I described to her the solitary moorland road, and the grey-gowned woman's figure in front of me, and the gig coming along to meet her, and the salutation of the two girls, and I told her all one look of her face had meant for me, and how I had wildly sought her in vain, and from that day to this had held her image in my heart.
How low the birds are flying. They are like big moths. The magic hasn't gone." Grey-gowned, grey-eyed, white-faced, he thought she was like a moth herself, fragile and impalpable in the gloom, a moth motionless on a flower, and when he saw her smile he thought the moth was making ready for flight. "I want this to go on for ever," she said. "The moor and the night and you.
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