Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 13, 2025
I detected something comminatory in his yellow, emaciated countenance, but I believe now he was simply startled by my youth. I bowed profoundly. He extended a meagre little hand. “Take a chair, Don Jorge.” He was very small, frail, and thin, but his voice was not languid, though he spoke hardly above his breath.
I demanded. "From a village of that name, which stands on the other side of the hill, Don Jorge," replied the herrador. "Vaya! it is a strange place, that castle; some say it was built by the Moors in the old times, and some by the Christians when they first laid siege to Toledo.
But he was powerless, and the procession started: first Roldan and Benito with their torches; then two vaqueros dragging the sled, the third holding the rope which encircled the bear's neck, ready to tighten it on a second's notice. Following were Don Jorge and Don Emilio, then the two other young torch bearers.
During his short sojourn on board the Covadonga Jim had formed a rather intimate acquaintanceship with her first lieutenant, a man named Jorge Montt; and one evening, after he had returned from one of his periodical surveys of the town, Jim entered the tiny mess-room to find Montt discoursing at length to an eager circle of listeners upon the legends and traditions of old Peru.
"Not exactly, Don Jorge de mi alma," replied he, "I can scarcely call him a guest, inasmuch as I gain nothing by him, though he is staying at my house. You must know, Don Jorge, that he is one of two priests who officiate at a large village at some slight distance from this place.
Its chief industries, coffee and bananas, are virtually controlled by Germans, whose enormous plantations overlap into the state of Chiapas, Mexico. But President Jorge Ubico, who is not much of an Aryan, prefers Mussolini's brand of fascism because the Nazi theory of Nordic supremacy does not strike a sympathetic chord in the President's heart.
I had come out of the house again, and saw a man running up and down on the narrow rocky plateau, like one crazy. It was Jörge the watchman; he was looking for the signal-post, and could not find it. "Here it is, look!" I said, turning his face toward the high pole right in front of him. He gazed up wistfully, and then all at once he blubbered out "See! See, the red light! I gave the warning.
The man who could merely copy nature would never have the eyes to see such beauties as Benedict Mol. It must be noticed how effective is the re-appearance, the intermingling of such a man with "ordinary life," and then finally the suggestion of one of Borrow's enemies that he was put up to it by Don Jorge "That fellow is at the bottom of half the picardias which happen in Spain."
"You will hardly derive much instruction from that book, Don Jorge," said the old man; "you cannot understand it, for it is not written in English." "Nor in Spanish," I replied. "But with respect to understanding the book, I cannot see what difficulty there can be in a thing so simple; it is only the Roman breviary written in the Latin tongue." "Do the English understand Latin?" exclaimed he.
"By no means, Don Jorge; I do not like horses; it is not the practice of the church to ride on horseback. We prefer mules: they are the quieter animals; I fear horses, they kick so violently." "The kick of a horse is death," said I, "if it touches a vital part.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking