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Updated: May 24, 2025
One was old and one might be called young, just like Aunt Harriet and Aunt Frances. But they looked very different from those aunts. The dark- haired one was very tall and strong-looking, and the white-haired one was very rosy and fat. They both looked up at the little, thin, white- faced girl on the high seat, and smiled. "Well, Father, you got her, I see," said the brown-haired one.
The tall, slim figure of the wife of our president, wearing a Leghorn shade hat, with one or two graceful lady pupils by her side, was often present and leading the procession; then perhaps the manly form of our head farmer, and his stout wife, and his boys and girl; our "poet," always beside some fair maiden, in cheerful conversation; a visitor and the visited; groups of young people together, with muslin dresses, blue tunics and straw hats intermingled; children; and maybe the stately form of William Henry Channing, with his regular profile, and his head carried high, looking upward and off, as into far, pleasant and dreamy distances, walking beside a tall, black haired woman, with a spiritual face of high type, in all some thirty to forty in number, making a delightfully picturesque group.
Meanwhile Sybil sat, absorbed in despair, and guarded by the second officer. Suddenly she heard her name softly murmured, and she looked up. The young bailiff stood before her. He was a sturdy looking young fellow, swarthy skinned, black haired, and black bearded. "Miss Sybil, don't you know me? I beg your pardon! Mrs.
And again appeared a pretorian cohort of gigantic Sicambrians, blue-eyed, bearded, blond and red haired. In front of them Roman eagles were carried by banner-bearers called "imaginarii," tablets with inscriptions, statues of German and Roman gods, and finally statues and busts of Cæsar.
And three did be dull coloured and seeming much haired and brutish; but the other did be an horrid white, and livid-blotched; so that it did seem to my spirit that there went by, a thing that did be a very man-monster filled of unwholesome life. And surely they did be gone from out of the shine of the fire, in one moment, as we do say; and again into the night to their dreadful chasing.
Then the grand-daughter of the man of the iron hand had gathered the little white haired lady in her arms as if to ward the blow. "The outlaws drove Fordie over the Rim Rocks with the herd," she said. "Is he dead? Is he dead?" The little woman had drawn her body up its full height. Eleanor tried to answer. The words would not come from her lips. She nodded.
When he rose and went out, he saw coming toward him a man he knew well Fenton, the Vicar of a church on the outskirts of Markborough, famous for its "high" doctrine and services; a young boyish fellow, curly haired, in whom the "gayety" that Catholicism, Anglican or Roman, prescribes to her most devout children was as conspicuous as an ascetic and labourious life. Meynell loved and admired him.
He saw white people dressed in most unusual garments, the woman possessing a gloriously beautiful face and the air of royalty, the man bushy haired and stalwart, every inch a gentleman and an American. "What does this mean?" he demanded. "You are the first white man we have seen in more than a year," cried Hugh.
He shrugged and would have passed on but for the strange, unusual figure standing on the platform. A golden haired woman with neck and arms like Chinese bronze and dressed in a skirt of grass! He paused. "Two thousand rupees!" "What!" jeered the professional seller. "For an houri from paradise? O ye of weak hearts, what is this I hear?
What one would give to see the shapes glide over the field of those camerae obscurae, the hearts of the street Arabs! once to gaze on the jewelled beauties through the eyes of those shocked haired girls!
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