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Updated: May 19, 2025
Julia chimed. "I do hope," Marie repeated, "that you'll be very happy. When will you come back?" "Early next month," said Julia. "Perhaps," Rokeby qualified. "And the first thing we do," said Julia affectionately, "will be to come and see how our Marie is, left all alone without us." "Don't!" Marie begged. "You're making me gulpy. For two pins I'd cry.
I am not going to believe that this is your last word, and we'll just pretend I didn't speak, and go on being good old pals as before. My chance may come yet." I remember that I felt quite gulpy and shaky when he said that, and that I wished at the time that I had been able to think of him otherwise than as a good old friend, just to see him grin happily again, as he so often does.
"And who asks you to talk to me, pray?" Paklin gave a nervous, gulpy laugh. "Well, never mind, my dear. Give me your hand. Don't be cross. I know you mean well, and so do I... Well?" Paklin extended his hand, Mashurina looked at him severely and extended her own. "If you really want to know my name," she said with the same expression of severity on her face, "I am called Fiekla."
That remark worried me, because it was the first headache she had ever complained of to me; and when, after she had gone upstairs, Miss Randall said, "Maybe Sally ought to see the doctor," I had a sudden awful, empty, gulpy feeling. Suppose she was going to be really sick! Suppose she was going to have pneumonia or scarlet-fever or spinal meningitis!
"Where did you get her?" The trembling hostess, flushed by the first successful moment in many dreary seasons, was almost too gulpy to speak. But words came at last. "Really, my dear Duchess, I don't know who she is. I don't know where she comes from or what she is. I only know her price and the name of her dance. If I told the price, well, there wouldn't be any rush in this crowd to engage her."
When this stratagem was impossible, she almost scalded herself in her gulpy haste. Then how she snatched up her satchel and ran through rain, or snow, or fog, or scorching sunshine! Yet often she lost her breath without gaining her mark, and as she cowered tearfully under the angry eyes of the classroom, a stab at her heart was added to the stitch in her side.
The badge of fear brands the novice. Standing hat in hand, nervous, apprehensive, gulpy, with the elevator door clanging behind him, and the sacred inner door closed before him, he offers up a silent and paradoxical "Thank heaven!" at the office girl's languid "Not in," and dives into the friendly shelter of the next elevator going down.
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