Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 7, 2025
Seas, even when calmest, were to become terrible, and men's heart-beats, a bit sluggish with the fatty degeneration of a sluggard peace, to quicken and then to throb with the rat-a-tat-tat, the rat-a-tat-tat of the most peremptory, the most reverberating call to arms in the history of the world. In June, 1917, Leon Kantor, answering that rat-a-tat-tat, enlisted.
Hasn't every prima donna a larynx to hide behind?" She lifted off her fur cap, spilling curls. "Well, I I'll be hanged!" said Lieutenant Kantor, his eyes lakes of her reflected loveliness. She let her hand linger in his. "Leon you really going? How terrible! How how wonderful!" "How wonderful' your coming!" "I You think it was not nice of me to come?"
Her hands and her forearms instantly out from the business of kneading something meaty and floury, Mrs. Kantor rushed forward, her glance quick from one to the other of them. "Abrahm, what's wrong?" "I'll feedle him! I'll feedle him!" The little pulling wrist still in clutch, Mr.
"Now, you little Chammer, you got a feedle, and if you ever let me hear you holler again for a feedle, by golly if I don't " From his corner, Leon Kantor reached out, taking the instrument and fitting it beneath his chin, the bow immediately feeling, surely and lightly for string. "Look, Abrahm! He knows how to hold it! What did I tell you?
At sight of Mannie, Leon Kantor, the tears still wetly and dirtily down his cheeks, left off his black, fierce-eyed stare of waiting long enough to smile, darkly, it is true, but sweetly. "Giddy-ap!" he cried. "Giddy-ap!" And then Mannie, true to habit, would scamper and scamper. Up out of the traplike stair-opening came the head of Mrs.
Kantor regarded his wife, the lower half of his face, well covered with reddish bristles, undershot, his free hand and even his eyes violently lifted. To those who see in a man a perpetual kinship to that animal kingdom of which he is supreme, there was something undeniably anthropoidal about Abrahm Kantor, a certain simian width between the eyes and long, rather agile hands with hairy backs.
Esther, grief-crumpled, but rich in the enormous hope of youth. The sweet Gina, to whom the waiting months had already begun their reality. Not so, Sarah Kantor. In a bedroom adjoining, its high-ceilinged vastness as cold as a cathedral to her lowness of stature, sobs dry and terrible were rumbling up from her, only to dash against lips tightly restraining them.
I dare him this time he should bring people no dignity has that man got, the way he brings everyone." Even upon her words came a rattling of door, of door-knob and a voice through the clamour. "Open quick Sarah! Leon!" A stiffening raced over Mrs. Kantor, so that she sat rigid on her chair-edge, lips compressed, eye darkly upon the shivering door. "Open Sarah!" With a narrowing glance, Mrs.
When Leon Kantor finally completed his program, they were loath to let him go, crowding down the aisles upon him, applauding up, down, round him, until the great disheveled house was like the roaring of a sea, and he would laugh and throw out his arm in wide-spread helplessness, and always his manager in the background, gesticulating against too much of his precious product for the money, ushers already slamming up chairs, his father's arms out for the Stradivarius, and, deepest in the gloom of the wings, Sarah Kantor, in a rocker especially dragged out for her, and from the depths of the black-silk reticule, darning his socks.
From the door of his dressing-room, leaning out, Leon Kantor could see a great segment of it, buzzing down into adjustment, orchestra twitting and tuning into it. In a bare little room, illuminated by a sheaf of roses just arrived, Mrs. Kantor drew him back by the elbow. "Leon, you're in a draft." The amazing years had dealt kindly with Mrs. Kantor.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking