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Updated: June 4, 2025
The more attractive and pretty of the British weeds as the common daisy, of which the poets have made so much, the larkspur, which is a pretty cornfield weed, and the scarlet field-poppy, which flowers all summer, and is so taking amid the ripening grain have not immigrated to our shores. Like a certain sweet rusticity and charm of European rural life, they do not thrive readily under our skies.
This time, Andrew Larkspur was still more surprised, though he was so completely master of himself as to conceal the smallest evidence of his astonishment. Here was a woman who had not devoted her mind to Berlin wool-work, and whose arithmetic was irreproachable! "Humph!" he muttered, too cautious to betray any appearance of eagerness to accept an advantageous offer.
Larkspur; "that's very odd: I know of nothing up at present for which they should send any one to me here. However," and he rose as he spoke, "I suppose I had better see this person. Where is he?" "In the hall," replied Jane. But Lady Eversleigh interposed to prevent Mr. Larkspur's departure. "Pray do not go," she said, "unless it concerns this business, unless it is news of my child.
Black Milsom! the face of Lady Eversleigh, pale before, grew almost ghastly in its pallor, as that hated name sounded in her ears, ominous as a death-knell. "Black Milsom!" she exclaimed at last. "If my child is in the power of that man, she is, indeed, lost." "You know him, my lady?" cried Andrew Larkspur, with surprise. "Ah, I remember, you seemed familiar with the details of the Jernam murder.
Behind them, there are two rough figures, busied with their own affairs, two of Joachim's shepherds; one, bare headed, the other wearing the wide Florentine cap with the falling point behind, which is exactly like the tube of a larkspur or violet; both carrying game, and talking to each other about Greasy Joan and her pot, or the like.
"Why, you don't think he had anything to do with that, Joe Harris?" exclaimed the butler. Andrew Larkspur took occasion to look at Matthew Brook at this moment; and he saw the coachman's honest face grow pallid, as if under the influence of some sudden terror. "You don't believe as Maunders had a hand in stealing the child, eh, Joe Harris?" repeated the butler. Joe Harris shook his head solemnly.
It never seemed anything very remarkable to me for most of the flowers have sown themselves and grow like weeds, but of course there's no denying the hollyhocks, poppies, and larkspur are pretty. But visitors always call it wonderful." "Most likely you could get a big price if you were to rent rooms." "I'm sure I could," replied Mrs. King thoughtfully.
At the dusk of one such day, when the taste of summer was like poppy leaves crushed between the teeth, and open streetcars and open shirtwaists blossomed forth even as the distant larkspur in the distant field, Madam Moores beheld the electric-protection door swing behind the last customer and relaxed frankly against a table piled high with fabrics of a dozen sheens. "Whew!
"Glittering magnificently unperturbed;" and there are the flowers in the garden, those Praelarissimi and Nobilisimi in the Court of God, the Pansy, the Blue Larkspur, the Purple Anemone; and what are all these things?
In the towns about Würzburg the bonfires used to be kindled in the market-places, and the young people who jumped over them wore garlands of flowers, especially of mugwort and vervain, and carried sprigs of larkspur in their hands. They thought that such as looked at the fire holding a bit of larkspur before their face would be troubled by no malady of the eyes throughout the year.
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