Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 13, 2025
He gave a swift glance over his shoulder at his companion with a low whistle of astonishment. "Your comrade seems to be choking," said one of the ladies, "I never heard any one cough so. Is he consumptive?" "No no!" said the gypsey. "It is probably a crumb of bread gone the wrong way; or the dust blown about by the dancing. He will recover. Bárin now tell me, do I hold the elbow right?"
Fold your arms over its fluttering, little one, that the guards may not see. They are coming now." "Pray Velasco!" "To whom should I pray? The Tsar perhaps or the Icon over yonder?" The gypsey laughed, holding out the passports. He was swaggering with his hands in his pockets, and when the official spoke to him, he shrugged his shoulders and answered in dialect. "Bohemian!" he said, "Yes gypsies!
He wishes to examine your instrument." The gentleman nodded brusquely and stretched out a fat hand. He was short and quite bald, and he stuttered as he spoke. "Quite a d-decent fiddle for a gypsey," he said, "Let me s-see it!" Velasco bowed with his hand on his heart: "It is mine," he said in a humble voice, "A thousand pardons, Bárin! Impossible!"
She took the cap and put it on her head, on the back of her curls, avoiding his eyes. "Will that do for a gypsey? Is it straight Velasco?" She said the name quite low and breathed hurriedly, with a flush on her cheeks. He was still staring at her, but he said nothing; he made no motion and she drew away from him a little frightened.
Kaya had stopped coughing; she had clapped one hand over her mouth to still the sound, and her blue eyes were fixed on one of the ladies, who was staring hard at the gypsey. They were listening intently. Petrokoff stood with his hands clasped over his waistcoat, his head a little to one side, nodding gently from time to time, as if listening to a pupil in his class room.
My Darling, Why am I such a fool as to write to a gypsey at Liverpool, who fancies that none is so good as she if she sends one letter for my three? A lazy chit whose fingers tire with penning a page in reply to a quire! There, Miss, you read all the first sentence of my epistle, and never knew that you were reading verse. I have some gossip for you about the Edinburgh Review.
But being careless in mapping down the road as the gypsey told me, I missed the lane to Enfield Town, and was going down Enfield Highway, till I passed the "Labour-in-vain" public-house, where a person who came out of the door told me the way. I walked down the lane gently, and was soon in Enfield Town, and by and by on the great York Road, where it was all plain sailing.
There were sounds in the room as of the pulling out of drawers, the creaking of keys in a rusty lock, steps hurrying from one spot to another, the fall of a heavy boot. Then presently the curtain was drawn aside and he reappeared. No, it was not Velasco; it was some one else, a gypsey in a rakish costume.
The younger gypsey sank back on the floor cross-legged, half hidden by the chair and the form of Velasco. Her hands were still trembling and she put them in the pockets of her jacket, trying to force her red lips to a whistle; but no sound came through the arch. She heard the voice of Velasco smooth, and wicked, and humble, just above her.
"Let Molly go!" repeated the girl mockingly. "Only question is whether she will let you go. But I thought you said it was business. That isn't business; it's fun. We choose the small boat and the crocodiles. That will be new. I know all about the Gypsey now." "Shall we let it go at that, Dick?" "Sure. Wonder if we can find my crocodile again."
Word Of The Day
Others Looking