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Then turning the slender little figure carefully about, "Gwendolyn, lovie, Jane thinks you'd better give the idear up." So it was true! Jane who was happiest when standing in opposition to others; who was certain to differ if a difference was possible Jane had borne it out! Moreover, she was frightened! For Gwendolyn was leaning against the nurse. And she could feel her shaking!
She leaned on the rail and looked down, meanwhile trying softly to draw away up-stairs; but her friend held on to one hand and murmured: "Just one question, dearie, just one. I'll not ask another: I'll die first. You'll probably find me in articulo mortis when you come down-stairs. Just one question, lovie." "W'at it is?" "It's nothing but this; I ask for information."
It was he to whom I had first listened: the eye was still brilliant, the face still sallow, but wrinkled now, and the voice and manner still fervent and earnest; and the great mind, though not the same, still powerful. It was that venerable, good man, Lovie Pierce, the father of the great and eloquent bishop. What has he not seen? what changes, what trials, what triumphs!
Emboldened by that cooing tone, Gwendolyn eyed the Manila bag covetously. "I didn't eat many," she asserted, gently argumentative. "Oh, a peanut or two won't hurt you, lovie," answered Jane, kneeling to present the bag. Then drawing the pink-frocked figure close, "And you didn't tell him what them two ladies had to say?" "No." It was decisive, "I told him about "
Come now, lovie, and I'll hide you in my own room." She closed the door as quietly as possible and crept upstairs again, carrying the dog hugged in her arms. As she stole along the passage to her room, one of the maids whispered to another who was sleeping in the room with her: "Oh, I have heard a great noise down-stairs, and one of the dogs was barking.
Generations before his eyes have passed into eternity; the little handful of Methodist communicants grown into a mighty and intelligent body; thousands of ministers are heralding her tenets all over the Protestant world mighty in learning, mighty in eloquence yet none surpass the eloquence, the power, and the purity of Lovie Pierce.
She suddenly recognized Lichonin, darted to him, embraced him, squeezed him to her bosom and kissed him straight on his lips with her moist, warm, thick lips. Then she spread her arms out wide, smote one palm against the other, intertwined her fingers, and sweetly, as only Podolian wives can do it, began to coo: "My little master, my little silver gold trove, my lovie!
After the mother bird has begun sitting, the male circles about within earshot of her, in that curious undulating flight, uttering his "per-chic-o-pee, per-chic-o-pee," while the female calls back to him in the tenderest tones, "Yes, lovie; I hear you."
Oh, I know it was unintentional! You were so little. But I can't spare any more." Down into the patch-pocket went her hand. Out came the lip-case. She thrust it into his furry grasp. "Keep this," she bade, "till I come back. I'll go for the Doctor." The Man-Who-Makes-Faces leaned down. "Fly!" he urged. At that, Jane began to circle once more. "Lovie," she hummed, "don't you go!
The little figure was all a-tremble, both small hands were beating the air in wild protest. "Jane! Oh, I'll be good! I'll be good!" She hid her face against the nurse, shuddering. "But you're sick, lovie. And a doctor would make you well. There! There! Listen to Jane, dearie." Thomas laid an anxious hand on the yellow head. "The doctor won't hurt you," he declared.
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