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Updated: May 17, 2025
"If your search of the house proved conclusively that he wasn't there, he did leave it, didn't he?" Monsieur Rigolot stared at him blankly for a moment, then nodded. "And there are windows, you know," Mr. Grimm went on, then: "As I understand it, Monsieur, no one except you and the stenographer saw the ambassador after ten o'clock in the morning?" "Oui, Monsieur.
In introductions to Perrault and Grimm and elsewhere, Andrew Lang pointed out the similarity of some of the incidents of folk tales speaking of animals, transference of human feeling to inanimate objects and the like with the mental processes of contemporary savages.
Stay! what is this lying in the way? Lights here. SCHWARZ. He has been beforehand with us. Put up your swords. There he lies sprawling like a dead dog. SCHWEITZER. Dead! What! dead? Dead without me? 'Tis a lie, I say. Mark how quickly he will spring upon his feet! Hollo! up with you? There is a father to be murdered. GRIMM. Spare your pains. He is as dead as a log. Yes, his game is up!
After its success I did not remark, either in Grimm, Diderot, or any of the men of letters, with whom I was acquainted, the same cordiality and frankness, nor that pleasure in seeing me, I had previously experienced.
"Just suppose that she had shot anybody me, say, or Señor Alvarez?" "I can't answer a question so ridiculous as that." "And suppose we go a little further," Mr. Grimm insisted pleasantly, "and assume that you knew she had shot some one, say Señor Alvarez, and you could protect her from the consequences, would you?" "I decline to suppose anything so utterly absurd," was the rejoinder. Mr.
She could see the beginning of the play: all dark save the high settles and the solid wooden table between them, which were to be illuminated by a ray from offstage. The high light was a polished copper pot filled with primroses. Less clearly she sketched the Grimm drawing-room as a series of cool high white arches. As to how she was to produce these effects she had no notion.
Lowell felt it here, George Eliot in England; and Herman Grimm in Germany, a sanguine man, speaks of the deep-seated unrest which almost drives us to despair. As I turn from my desk to the morning's newspaper I find in it the following extract from one of Emerson's earlier essays: "Trust the time. What a fatal prodigality to condemn our age we cannot overvalue it it is our all.
Yet I informed some of my friends of it, solely to make it known to them, and that I might not in their eyes appear better than I was. These friends were three in number: Diderot, Grimm, and Madam d'Epinay. Duclos, the most worthy of my confidence, was the only real friend whom I did not inform of it. He nevertheless knew what I had done. By whom? This I know not.
If his attitude indicated anything except sheer comfort, it was that he was listening. He had been there for two hours, wide-awake, and absolutely motionless. Five, ten, fifteen minutes more passed, and then Mr. Grimm heard the grind and whir of an automobile a block or so away, coming toward the embassy. Now it was in front. "Honk! Hon-on-onk!" it called plaintively. "Hon-on-onk! Honk!"
"It means that the compact will be signed in Washington in spite of Mr. Grimm," and there was the glitter of triumph in her eyes. "With the aid of one of the maids in the depot at Jersey City I managed to get a telegram of explanation and instruction to De Foe in New York, and this is the result. He signed Mr. Campbell's name, I suppose, to give weight to the message."
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