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Updated: May 8, 2025
She said very little, but she listened and she laughed, and gave him such pretty, touching glances, such half-mournful, half-merry looks when she thought he was not looking, that by the time they came to the cheese he was in a state of infatuation, in which he forgot to notice what a very long ten minutes Dudley was giving them.
I am, it seems, a sort of uncle of yours?" "Vladimir Nikolaitch has a good heart," said Lisa, "and he is clever; maman likes him very much." "And do you like him?" "He is nice; why should I not like him?" "Ah!" Lavretsky uttered and ceased speaking. A half-mournful, half-ironical expression passed over his face. His steadfast gaze embarrassed Lisa, but he went on smiling.
But isn't it wicked, isn't it mad for me, a homeless, solitary man, to drag you with me... and out there too! She shut his mouth.... 'Sh or I shall be angry, and never come to see you again. Why isn't it all decided, all settled between us? Am I not your wife? Can a wife be parted from her husband? 'Wives don't go into war, he said with a half-mournful smile.
How poor, even in this beautiful world, with the warm sun and fresh air about us, that alone are sufficient to make us glad, would be life, if we could not make the happiness of others!" Aram looked at the beautiful speaker with a soft and half-mournful smile.
Then the daylight waned. The sky returned to its greyness as the night shades rose, and a bitter breeze shuddered through the woods and along the valleys. The sounds of the forest rose in mournful cadence, and, as the profundity of the mountain night settled heavily upon the world, the timber-wolf, the outlaw of the region, moved abroad, lifting his voice in a cry half-mournful, half-exultant.
If one lets the lines ring in his ears a little, the true Hawthornesque murmur and half-mournful cadence become clear. I am told, by the way, that when the Atlantic cable was to be laid, some one quoted this to a near relative of the writer's, not remembering the name of the author, but thinking it conclusive proof that the ocean depths would receive the cable securely.
With the first breath of winter there passes a voice half-menacing, half-mournful, through all the barren ways and phantom-haunted refuges of the nether world.
Once she thought of what Marion had told her about some one saying she was "like a dove." Who said it? Not Harold that was impossible. Arranging her dress, she looked a moment, with half-mournful curiosity, at the pale, small face reflected in the mirror. "Ah, no! There is no beauty in me. Even did he care for me, I could give him nothing but my poor heart. I can give him that still.
On a dark corner three men and a boy were playing a marimba, a frame with dried bars of wood as keys which, beaten with small wooden mallets, gave off a weird, half-mournful music that floated slowly away into the heavy hot night.
Remain with us, madame; live with us, you and my mignonne, whose face is white yet." Could I stay then? It was a very calm, very secure refuge. There was no danger of discovery. Yet there was a restlessness in my spirit at war with the half-mournful, half-joyous serenity of the place, where I had seen so many people die, and where there were so many new graves in the little cemetery up the hill.
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