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Updated: May 1, 2025
"We will now consider the question of summer underwear ended. Would it bore you too much to touch lightly on the subject of your son's future?" Emma McChesney, tall, straight, handsome, looked up at her son, taller, straighter, handsomer. Then she took him by the coat lapels and hugged him. "You were so bursting with your own glory that I couldn't resist teasing you.
He had turned up the collar of his "smoking," and drawn the silk lapels forward over his soft shirt-front. His white gloves were saturated. He came to sit down by Vere. "Madame!" he said reproachfully, "we should have waited. The sea is too rough. Really, it is dangerous. And the Signorina and I we could have danced together." Hermione could not help laughing, though she did not feel gay.
Gavin Brice, a lump in his own throat, drew her to him. And she clung to his soaked coat lapels hiding her head on his drenched breast. There was nothing of love or of sex in the action. She was simply a heartbroken child seeking refuge in the strength of some one older and stronger than she. Gavin realized it, and he held her to him and comforted her as though she had been his little sister.
Jim,”—Ántonia took hold of my coat lapels,—“there was something in your speech that made me think so about my papa!” “I thought about your papa when I wrote my speech, Tony,” I said. “I dedicated it to him.” She threw her arms around me, and her dear face was all wet with tears. I stood watching their white dresses glimmer smaller and smaller down the sidewalk as they went away.
Joan looked for the new Governor and his wife, or at least for Lady Biddy, but none of them had yet put in an appearance. A handsome, fair-moustachioed young aide-de-camp, looking very smart in his evening uniform with white lapels, was fluttering round, his dinner list in his hand, and introducing people who already knew each other.
With considerable satisfaction he ran over the outfit he had brought, deeming it even on second thoughts a singularly happy selection: the dining coat with pale-blue lapels, the white tie of a new material and cut borrowed from the Baron's finery, the socks so ravishingly embroidered that he had more than once caught the ladies at Hechnahoul casting affectionate glances upon them.
"You have no claim to mercy," I said. "Do not count upon any. What have you taken from here?" She grasped the lapels of my coat. "I will tell you all I can all I dare," she panted eagerly, fearfully. "I should know how to deal with your friend, but with you I am lost! If you could only understand you would not be so cruel." Her slight accent added charm to the musical voice.
It was a smile with the shock of a bullet. It held Neale, so that when she crossed to him he could not move. He felt rather than saw Hough return to his side. The girl took hold of the lapels of Neale's coat. She looked up. Her eyes were dark, with what seemed red shadows deep in them. She had white teeth.
Gerard, stood there in carriage gown and sables, radiant with surprise. "Phil! You! Exactly like you, Philip, to come strolling in from the antipodes dear fellow!" recovering from the fraternal embrace and holding both lapels of his coat in her gloved hands.
She stood close to him holding the lapels of his jacket in either hand, searching his face wistfully with her fathomless dusky eyes. "No, sweetheart, we are not," replied Thorpe soberly. Surely it is useless to follow the sequel in detail, to tell how Hilda persuaded Thorpe to take her money. She aroused skillfully his fighting blood, induced him to use one fortune to rescue another.
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