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They ran into the middle of the street to look up at the nursery window; and, yes, it was still shut, but the room was ablaze with light, and most heart-gripping sight of all, they could see in shadow on the curtain three little figures in night attire circling round and round, not on the floor but in the air. Not three figures, four! In a tremble they opened the street door. Mr.

You are very stupid . . .” But she had the grace to add, “On purpose.” I don’t know about the on purpose. I am not certain about the stupidity. Her words bewildered one often and bewilderment is a sort of stupidity. I remedied it by simply disregarding the sense of what she said. The sound was there and also her poignant heart-gripping presence giving occupation enough to one’s faculties.

I moved away only a few steps from the horses, and could not make them out any more. By and by I could distinguish some words, and I recognized the heart-gripping chant of a Hebrew Psalm. . . . "For the Lord knoweth the path of the righteous, And the path of the wicked shall perish." . . . My fears vanished, and gave place to a feeling of surprise.

The authorities admit that young Falder is mentally and physically "in bad shape," but nothing can be done in the matter: many others are in a similar position, and "the quarters are inadequate." The third scene of the third act is heart-gripping in its silent force. The whole scene is a pantomime, taking place in Falder's prison cell.

They ran into the middle of the street to look up at the nursery window; and, yes, it was still shut, but the room was ablaze with light, and most heart-gripping sight of all, they could see in shadow on the curtain three little figures in night attire circling round and round, not on the floor but in the air. Not three figures, four! In a tremble they opened the street door. Mr.

Merton Gill beyond a doubt preferred Western stuff, some heart-gripping tale of the open spaces, or perhaps of the frozen north, where he could be the hard-riding, straight-shooting, two-fisted wonder-man, and not have to smoke so many cigarettes only one now and then, which he would roll himself and toss away after a few puffs. Still, he had shown above the mob of extra people, he thought.

It was Merton Gill's great moment, a heart-gripping climax to a two-days' drama that had at no time lacked tension. Superbly he arose to it. Consecrated to his art, Clifford Armytage gave the public something better and finer. He drew himself up and spoke lightly, clearly, with careless ease: "No, thanks-I couldn't eat a mouthful."

"The Senate rejects the canal treaty," read out Indiman. "Now for the next quotation of Panama common; the last sale was at 70 1/2. Will you take the tape, Mr. Barnes?" There was an instant's pause in the click-click of the instrument, the heart-gripping lull before the breaking of the tempest.