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Updated: May 20, 2025
There was an ample space formed by its slant against the cliff and almost before she knew it, she had crept into this crevice. Cowering in the dusk, she clutched at her loud-beating heart and listened intently. There was no sound of his steps on the rough roadway of the valley and though she watched eagerly from her hiding-place, she did not see him pass. After a long time she emerged.
The latter now remained alone, and, with loud-beating heart, listened to every sound, and, moving gently around, looked down the long alley which ran between the two fountains, in order to catch sight of the approach of the queen.
For the next moment the two stood face to face, very pale and still, but thanking God fervently in their full, loud-beating hearts. Within the dome is "The Whispering Gallery." This is surely very curious; the least whisper breathed against the wall at a certain point, being distinctly heard on the opposite side of the gallery, or making the entire inner circle of the great dome.
"Really and truly I am glad to hear that!" said Farmer Oak, smiling one of his long special smiles, and blushing with gladness. He held out his hand to take hers, which, when she had eased her side by pressing it there, was prettily extended upon her bosom to still her loud-beating heart. Directly he seized it she put it behind her, so that it slipped through his fingers like an eel."
With silent feet and loud-beating heart she went down the hall to the back upper porch, for in that day porches were built at the back and front of houses, above and below. Once on the back-porch she turned to the right and stood by Cynthy Ann's door. But a new fear took possession of her. If Cynthy Ann should be frightened and scream! "Cynthy!
He held out his hand to take hers, which, when she had eased her side by pressing it there, was prettily extended upon her bosom to still her loud-beating heart. Directly he seized it she put it behind her, so that it slipped through his fingers like an eel. " "I have a nice snug little farm." said Gabriel, with half a degree less assurance than when he had seized her hand. "Yes; you have."
These narratives of his mother, these enthusiastic stories of heroes of the past, which the boy, with loud-beating heart, with countenance blanched by mental excitement, gathered from the beautiful lips of his mother, were the highest pleasure of the little Napoleon, and often in future years has the emperor amid his glory thought of those days never to be forgotten, when the child's heart and soul hung on his mother's lips, and listened to her wondrous stories of heroes.
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