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Updated: June 25, 2025
The demons of the Middle Ages I have seen, but not their angels, their Marys, their Jesus, their God the Father, while yet I often longed for it as a child and prayed for it as a man, until I was old and wise enough to understand that I had to be glad of their non-appearance, because the apparition of an old, bearded king as God, of a white-robed, long-haired man as Jesus, of a winged man as an angel, would simply have been nothing but fancied images, spectral deception or impotent human phantasy.
"Well, you've settled him somewhere, confess." "He has some work for the present; some copying for me, and translating, for this unfortunate is a scholar, you know." "Very good; then let it rest. Granted the poor devils have a bad time of it, you're not bound to sacrifice yourself for them. If you go on at this pace, you'll bring up with the long-haired, bloomer reformers, and then God help you.
If he can draw every thing, why draw any thing? and then is my eye opened to the eternal picture which nature paints in the street, with moving men and children, beggars and fine ladies, draped in red and green and blue and gray; long-haired, grizzled, white-faced, black-faced, wrinkled, giant, dwarf, expanded, elfish, capped and based by heaven, earth and sea.
I have seen prisoners come in who looked perfectly bewildered as they gazed upon the mob of ragged, shoeless, hatless, unshaven, long-haired, howling beings who confronted them, looking more like escaped lunatics than officers; when some one back in the crowd would sing out, give the gentleman air, don't take his haversack, keep your hands out of his pocket, don't put that louse on him, why don't some of you fellows take the gentleman's baggage, and show him to his room, Johnny show the gentleman up to No. 13.
She knowed there WAS somebody else, but for the life of her she couldn't" Rachel did not quite dare to tell so gross a falsehood, and so at this point she concluded to THINK, and added suddenly, "Oh, yes, I remember now. 'Twas that tall, long-haired, scented- up, big-feelin' man they call Squire Herrin'ton's VALLY." "Victor Dupres been here!" and Grace's face lighted perceptibly.
The man he sat beside was a patrolman off duty, and to this engaging Westerner he was quite ready to impart any information he might have. "Fakirs," he pronounced promptly. "They're a bunch of long-haired nuts, most of 'em queer guys who can't sell their junk and kid themselves into thinking they're artists and writers. They pull a lot of stuff about socialism and anarchy and high art."
He was a beautiful long-haired male silver tabby, and bred by Mrs. A.F. Gardner. Sylvio's mother was Mimidatzi, whose pedigree is given in the previous chapter. "Mimi's" sire was the champion Blue Boy the Great, whose mother was Boots of Bridgeyate, whose pedigree is also given in the extract from the stud book.
When he thinks of him at all, which is not often, he conjures up the figure of a wild-eyed, long-haired, blood-smeared, howling and naked savage, armed with what Tennyson calls the 'cursed Malayan crease, who spends all his spare time running âmok.
Ralph, having put the long-haired one to rout, had asked the men if they knew the young lady who had talked to them. They had, it seemed, seen her riding with Dr. McKenzie. They thought she was his daughter. It had been easy enough after that to find Jean on his mother's visiting list. Mrs. Witherspoon and Mrs.
The Swede told her that they were utterly harmless, that they always fled as soon as their keen eyes or sharp ears revealed the neighborhood of their enemies, the men who coveted their thick and long-haired hides worth a good many dollars.
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