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Daylight began to feel a slight awkwardness, and the sun would persist in setting her hair a-smouldering. "I didn't mean to be funny," he said. "That was why I laughed. But it is right, and perfectly good grammar." "All right," he sighed "I shall meet you halfway in this proposition got that?" And the dictation went on.
He took slight note of the conversation between the two young folks; he was clearly more interested in a strip of black cloud that had come within the half hour and hung itself over the Aiguille du Dru. The foot-path and the bridle-road from Chamouni unite at the Caillet, a spring of fresh water halfway up the mountain.
It opens on the roadway about halfway between the Rains' store and the old home of Coonrod. But there is no myth to the present-day side of the story. More than squirrels and rabbits have been hunted up that ravine.
"Suppose the spanners break when you're halfway over, Tom?" asked his chum. "I don't like to suppose anything of the sort. But if they do, we're going down!" "Can you get up again?" "That remains to be seen," was the non-committal reply. "Well, here goes, anyhow!"
But now he did not continue his journey; instead, he hurried back, keeping just inside the fringe of trees until he reached a point halfway between the tips of the semi-circle. He now crept to the very border of the jungle where, though hidden from view he could nevertheless have a clear sweep of his trail across the sand.
After carrying John Baptiste about halfway up the wharf, they put him down, and made him "trot it" until they reached the Dutch grog-shop we have described in the scene with Manuel. Here they halted to take a "stiff'ner," while Baptiste was ordered to sit down upon a bench, Dunn taking him by the collar and giving him a hearty shake, which made the lad bellow right lustily.
The position of the stallion was halfway between the fire and Slone, and a hundred yards up the slope. Like a madman Slone climbed up through the dragging, loose sand. He was beside himself with a fury of excitement. He fancied his eyes were failing him, that it was not possible the great horse really was up there, helpless in the sand.
One winter evening as I was going home, I encountered at the mail-box a young woman who shot at me a queer, twisted smile. I stood still, as though stunned, looking after her, and when halfway across the slushy street she turned and smiled again.
Goldsborough's chapter of petty troubles was not yet ended; for the driver of the second taxi stupidly drove to the wrong address, landing his fare at a house on West Sixty-third Street, clear across Central Park and nearly halfway across town from Mrs. Hadley-Smith's home.
Dropping to the floor, she crept softly under the cot, from there to the next and the next. Her course was straight to the door through which the physician had entered, and by the time he was halfway across the room she had wriggled herself clear of the last cot, and was over the sill and in the corridor, the twilight aiding her escape.
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